


Dark Lord’s Little Helper

by abstractconcept



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, F/M, Het, Humor, leather pants Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:11:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4242003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco realizes he’s to be given over to the Dark Lord to join his army and have a ‘man’ made out of him, he does the right thing and becomes a conscientious objector. Turning to Dumbledore, he is placed temporarily with the Weasleys, who do their best to make his life a nightmare. When Ginny is stuck with Draco for the summer, she uncovers a plot to kill Harry, and discovers an unlikely ally in the demanding aristocrat. But being seen as a little girl and the son of a former Death Eater can really put a damper on the victory parade. How will they get anyone to believe them, when they don’t even trust each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Still importing. This one is a MESS. Sorry about that. :( It's also one of my earliest works, so it's a bit clunky, but I liked the bare bones and some of the ideas. It's very much a silly fic, a lot of over-the-top, dramatic Draco and such. But I wrote it for a friend and it was such a lot of fun to write.
> 
> [Original Note, edited for privacy: Yes, it’s true; abstractconcept, known better as ‘A’ to her friends, ‘The Slow Death,’ to her enemies, and ‘Complete Stranger,’ to everyone in between, has written a het fic. And soon the stars will come crashing down from the sky, and a wild beast with ten horns and seven heads shall rise from the sea, and the moon will be as red as blood. And if you don’t like het, too bad: I didn’t write it for you, I wrote it for Nori. And if you’d bought me presents on my birthday and taken me out for lunch, maybe I’d be writing one for you, instead. But you didn’t, so there. Anyway, give it a try. I hope it is infused with as much humor and cleverness as my other fics, and will therefore be somewhat less painful than you think.]

_**Dark Lord's Little Helper**_  
TITLE: Dark Lord’s Little Helper  
PAIRING: Draco/Ginny  
RATING: PG-13  
DISCLAIMER:  Belongs to JKR. No profit. No infringement etc.  
SUMMARY: When Draco realizes he’s to be given over to the Dark Lord to join his army and have a ‘man’ made out of him, he does the right thing and becomes a conscientious objector. Turning to Dumbledore, he is placed temporarily with the Weasleys, who do their best to make his life a nightmare. When Ginny is stuck with Draco for the summer, she uncovers a plot to kill Harry, and discovers an unlikely ally in the demanding aristocrat. But being seen as a little girl and the son of a former Death Eater can really put a damper on the victory parade. How will they get anyone to believe them, when they don’t even trust each other?  
CATEGORY: (Drama/Humor/Romance)  
BETAS: Gemsbok and ShadowPhoenix  
NOTES: Yes, it’s true; StarryGazer, known better as ‘Aubrey,’ to her friends, ‘The Slow Death,’ to her enemies, and ‘Complete Stranger,’ to everyone in between, has written a het fic. And soon the stars will come crashing down from the sky, and a wild beast with ten horns and seven heads shall rise from the sea, and the moon will be as red as blood. And if you don’t like het, too bad: I didn’t write it for you, I wrote it for Nori. And if you’d bought me presents on my birthday and taken me out for lunch, maybe I’d be writing one for you, instead. But you didn’t, so there. Anyway, give it a try. I hope it is infused with as much humor and cleverness as my other fics, and will therefore be somewhat less painful than you think.  
DEDICATIONS: This story is dedicated to the lovely Nori-sama, who is one of the only people in the world worth swallowing my pride and writing a Ginny/Draco for.  


 

 

 

**Dark Lord’s Little Helper**

 

 

Draco sat on the landing, shuffling his ‘Diabolical Doses Deck’ while he listened closely to the voices in the foyer. The landing was Draco’s favorite haunt in Malfoy Manor, as it was ideally situated to overhear conversations in many other parts of the house, all without being seen. 

 

“The Dark Lord, in his mercy and wisdom, saw fit to liberate you from Azkaban, and he expects your gratitude to be evident,” the chilly tones of Rodolphus Lestrange noted.

 

Draco concentrated on the cards, putting them in alphabetical order. _Deadly Nightshade._ He catalogued its properties in his head. _Also called Belladonna._ He glanced briefly at the picture on the cardboard, barely taking in the familiar plant with purplish-black berries _. All parts of the plant are highly toxic. Symptoms include…_

 

“And how, exactly, does he expect my ‘gratitude’ to manifest itself?” Draco heard his father respond. It was the same bored tone, the same cool amusement; but perhaps, just perhaps, a tad less confident than his pre-Azkaban attitude. Draco noted this, and wondered.

 

“Your son is nearly of age; it’s time he took the mark,” Bellatrix broke in with her shudder-inspiring screech. “It’s time he was made… _useful._ ” Draco paused, smoothing out a slight crease in one of the cards. They’d been a gift from Professor Snape a couple of years before he’d entered Hogwarts, and even though he had them memorized, they were comforting in their solidness and familiarity. Draco had always been slightly edgy, and it helped to have something to do with his hands.

 

“And is that…what my Lord requested?” Lucius responded slowly. Draco smiled slightly. His father wouldn’t simply turn him over to the Dark Lord to be—to be… _branded_ like cattle. Father had always said that he took the mark when he was young and foolish, and now didn’t see why one’s flesh should be marred just to show one’s loyalty. Of course, he didn’t say it _loudly_ , and never in company, but Draco was certain his father would never allow them to do that to _him_.

 

“It _is_ ,” Draco’s uncle affirmed. “After your failure in the Department of Mysteries, you ought to be glad our Master saw fit to include Draco in the list of Chosen—and the first of his generation! You seem distinctly…ambivalent about the prospect. Are you not pleased?” His tones were amused, and held a dark undercurrent of challenge.

 

“Of course I’m pleased,” Lucius responded, too hastily to sound casual to even the least perceptive listener.

 

Draco winced, shuffling. _False hellebore. Reaction time within twenty minutes._ “I shall send Draco tonight.” Draco froze. Surely not. Surely his mother, if no one else, would not let them take him.

 

“Good—” Rodolphus began, but his wife interrupted.

 

“You should be honored, my dear brother-in-law, very honored. To give your child to the cause—we should have done the same, of course, but we were in Azkaban for far too long, and now we have passed the chance. Need I say that I find it a _personal_ source of pride, that one with my bloodline shall be the next to give himself to my lord? It is good that he is not like that _other_ , who died at my hand—the _traitor._ Murdering Sirius was amusing, but I should hate to have to kill my own nephew.”

 

Perhaps Draco’s mother wasn’t even in the room. She hadn’t said one word, all night. She might not even be in the house. Perhaps she’d gone—“Yes. Yes, _my son_ is the first of his age to become worthy of the Dark Lord’s notice,” she abruptly said in a shaky voice. 

 

Hidden in the shadows on the landing, Draco froze. _Narcissus poeticus. Grown as a garden flower. Can cause paralysis, convulsions, collapse, and death…the bitch._

 

“I’m glad we are agreed,” his aunt announced from below, much too sweetly in Draco’s studied opinion. “We need not take the boy tonight. We might linger until the morning; after all, a long trip awaits us!” She cackled slightly, and Draco recoiled. And rumor had it that Potter thought _his_ aunt was a trial. 

 

Silently, Draco rose and clambered upstairs. When he was safely in his rooms, he called for his personal house elf. “Dixie!” 

 

She popped into the room immediately, saluting and looking inappropriately cheerful as she squeaked, “Yes, Master! If Master will tell Dixie what to do, she will _do_ it sir, yes, right away!” 

 

Grunting as he threw clothes into a pack (well, _throwing_ would be manual labor, so technically Draco was really using his wand to magic them folded and in), Draco didn’t spare the elf a passing glance. Time was of the essence. No crocodile-eyed, snake-skinned megalomaniac was coming to burn Draco’s beautiful skin with his stupid gang tag, or whatever it was called, nuh- _uh_. 

 

“Get me my broom, some food that doesn’t spoil easily and…and a map of England—a _detailed_ map,” he told her, and with another ‘pop’ she obeyed. 

 

By the time she returned a few minutes later, Draco had most of his belongings packed and shrunk and ready to go. “Good, okay, great,” he muttered, grabbing the food from her and shrinking it as well. Dixie immediately became hysterical with loud sobs, and Draco halted in mid wand-wave, horrified. He’d forgotten how badly house elves reacted to praise…and condemnation…and indifference…and sunlight. Basically, anyone who took any interest in a house elf had bought themselves an entertaining interlude of undiluted melodrama. 

 

“Oh! Master is saying Dixie is good! And Dixie only brought Master Draco some oranges and smoked meat and—”

 

“Yes, Dixie!” he interrupted in a desperate hiss, hoping no one else was privy to her histrionics. Why the hell did they have to be so _vocal_ about everything? “And it’s good, it’s all just fine, but now I need you to do something else for me! Right now!”

 

Dixie promptly stopped crying and looked up with an expectant, eager expression.

 

“Right now,” he continued between clenched teeth, “Master Draco needs you to _belt up_ , and _stay_ that way until the coast is clear! So be _quiet_. Like a mouse! Like a snake! Like a venomous spider! Until I’ve got well away!” 

 

Dixie nodded enthusiastically, and Draco whimpered continuously as he threw his belongings on the back of the broom. He quit as soon as he realized it. _After all,_ he thought as he mounted his broom and aimed it out the window, _Malfoys do not whimper. We may steal, and lie, and murder, and sell our precious firstborn sons to madmen and allow people to horribly mutilate their bodies, but we do not whimper._ Much.

 

 

Ginny stared up at the sky, holding her cardigan around her against the cool evening air. It really was a beautiful night—she just wished…she wasn’t sure _what_ she wished, anymore. She’d like to have someone to share moments like these with. Someone to look up at the great, scintillating moon and say, ‘Isn’t that awesome?’ or, ‘The moon sure is big tonight.’ Or even, ‘It’s a nice night out.’

 

Instead, what she heard was crashing and banging and ‘Don’t you dare do that to my cloak! I’ll tell Mum!’ as Ron, Harry, and the twins charged about the house like a bunch of elephants on the rampage. She _hated_ it when her parents went out and left the twins in charge. 

 

Finally, the back door opened, and Harry came out to join her. Feeling just a bit of a secret thrill, she turned to look at him. Harry gave her a lopsided grin, lifting a glass of butterbeer to his mouth and drinking deeply. He seemed to be covered in white dust. “Whoo!” he wheezed, wiping sweat from his face with the back of his hand, along with the white powder. “I think we’ve almost got all the brownies out of the cellar. It was actually kind of fun, but what a workout!”

 

Ginny managed a half smile at this, although it was really more of a grimace. “What did you get all over you?”

 

Harry shrugged. “I think there was an old can of pixie powder or something that Fred dropped on me. Doesn’t hurt or anything. Just made me sort of dizzy.” He took another sip of his drink and looked around. “Nice ‘n cool out here,” he commented. “Is that why you came out?”

 

Ginny shook her head. “No; it was a really clear night, so I thought I’d do some star gazing.”

 

Harry squinted up at the heavens. “Sounds dull. Isn’t that what Astronomy class is for? Waste of a summer, if you ask me.” 

 

Then Ron stuck his head outside. “Oi! You out here snogging Ginny or something? Come back downstairs—we found a bunch of Bill’s old _Playwizard_ under the stairs!”

 

Ginny gaped indignantly as Harry ambled back inside. _Men._ Huffing, she gathered her sweater a little more closely. Harry comes for a visit, and every single one of her brothers had turned into an idiot—correction, even _more_ of an idiot than usual—and took turns showing off every dangerous, stupid thing they’d ever done, in the interest of acquainting Harry with the wizarding world. 

 

Well, she’d had about enough of _all_ of them for tonight. She buttoned her sweater and marched inside, ignoring the whistles, howls and various exclamations coming from the basement. Her mum was visiting Aunt Patches, so it was no use looking for her—anyway, she’d only get angry if Ginny left the house without permission, just to track her down and ‘whine’ about the boys. Still, there was _no way_ she was going to hang about, bored out of her skull, and wait for Fred and George to decide to turn her hands into spatulas or something.

 

No. She was out of there. _Now_. There weren’t many places she was allowed to go on her own, but she felt certain she couldn’t get in _too_ much trouble if she just visited her Dad at work. He was really having to stay late a lot recently, and almost never made it home in time for supper. That reminded her—she _couldn’t_ get in trouble if she brought along some of Mum’s meatloaf. After all, Mum wouldn’t want Dad to _starve_ , would she?

 

Waiving her wand surreptitiously to bag the food, she listened at the top of the stairs for a few minutes. When she was sure the conversation was loud and intense and—above all—far more absorbing than anything a kid sister could say, she cleared her throat and called quickly, “I have to run an errand and bring Dad his dinner, be back in a couple of minutes!”

 

And she was greeted with a halfhearted chorus of ‘Sures,’ ‘Yeahs,’ ‘All rights,’ and ‘Whatevers’. She knew that would do the trick—all she had to do was approach the subject when they were distracted, make it sound like she was doing something dull, and imply that one of her parent’s had given their permission. Smiling grimly, she headed for the grate, where she grabbed some Floo powder from the mantle, leaned into the fire and said, “Ministry of Magic, employee’s entrance,” clearly. 

 

When she stepped out of the flames, she was met by the Ministry’s new Security Auror. He was a large, imposing man with a very red nose, who had a round desk in the middle of the hall. When she explained, sweetly and with as much innocence as she could muster, that she was only there to bring her father his supper, he scowled suspiciously at her for a long moment. “What’s your father’s name?” he finally asked in a gruff voice.

 

“Arthur Weasley,” she responded readily, willing him to see her as a harmless little girl. “He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, level two.”

 

“Well,” he grumbled a bit, eyeing her speculatively. “Let me give a call down there and let him know.” At this, he leaned over to his desk and pulled a golden switch. Instantly, it spun round and turned into what looked like a trumpet. “Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts,” he said.

 

Arthur Weasley’s voice came out of the horn end. “Yes? What is it; I’m rather busy at the moment…” he trailed off.

 

“I’ve got a visitor for you at the security desk,” the man said, “but if you’re not expecting her—”

 

“It’s me, Dad; Ginny,” Ginny interrupted at the trumpet.

 

“Goodness! Ginny! Why aren’t you at home with your brothers? There hasn’t been—”

 

“No, nothing’s wrong,” she interrupted again. “I just had to bring you some supper.” Once again, she’d been careful with her choice of words— _had_ , rather than just ‘wanted to.’ 

 

“Well, all right. You remember the way to my office, don’t you?” her father’s voice floated back to her.

 

“Oh, sure! I’ve been there loads of times—” she began, but the Security Auror cleared his throat. 

 

“I’m sorry, Mister Weasley, but you’ll have to come up and get her. She can’t be allowed to wander ‘round on her own at night, and I’ve got my hands full with other things, so I can’t bring her down. Don’t know what’s wrong with this place; it isn’t a playground. We can’t have children roaming about, mucking things up and getting into mischief.”

 

Ginny’s father said something in response, but she missed it, because she happened to look where the Auror was carelessly gesturing while he spoke.

 

Standing against one wall, looking shaky, furious, and even more pale than usual, was Draco Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Draco has fled his cowardly parents, he’s going to need somewhere to stay. Can anyone say, Ritz-Carlton, please? However, Draco’s accommodations are up to Dumbledore, and he feels the boy would benefit from a trip to the Burrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to the Brits who get insulted by this one. I typed in ‘run-down’ and ‘dump’ and ‘Britain,’ and that’s the town with the most hits. I didn’t know enough to make it up, I swear. To me, it’s as good as a fictional place. Anyway. Here we are once again. Believe it or not, I think this fic is really good for me! For starters, since I don’t have a vested interest in the actual characters, I can focus on plot, and sticking to said plot. I’ve never done that before! I write character-driven stories, usually. I’m doing my best to make these guys likable, but I’m not obsessed with it, so hey!

_**Dark Lord's Little Helper**_  
TITLE: Dark Lord’s Little Helper  
PAIRING: Draco/Ginny  
RATING: PG-13  
DISCLAIMER:  Belongs to JKR. No profit. No infringement etc.  
SUMMARY: When Draco realizes he’s to be given over to the Dark Lord to join his army and have a ‘man’ made out of him, he does the right thing and becomes a conscientious objector. Turning to Dumbledore, he is placed temporarily with the Weasleys, who do their best to make his life a nightmare. When Ginny is stuck with Draco for the summer, she uncovers a plot to kill Harry, and discovers an unlikely ally in the demanding aristocrat. But being seen as a little girl and the son of a former Death Eater can really put a damper on the victory parade. How will they get anyone to believe them, when they don’t even trust each other?  
CATEGORY: (Drama/Humor/Romance)  
BETAS: Gemsbok and ShadowPhoenix  
NOTES: Yes, it’s true; StarryGazer, known better as ‘Aubrey,’ to her friends, ‘The Slow Death,’ to her enemies, and ‘Complete Stranger,’ to everyone in between, has written a het fic. And soon the stars will come crashing down from the sky, and a wild beast with ten horns and seven heads shall rise from the sea, and the moon will be as red as blood. And if you don’t like het, too bad: I didn’t write it for you, I wrote it for Nori. And if you’d bought me presents on my birthday and taken me out for lunch, maybe I’d be writing one for you, instead. But you didn’t, so there. Anyway, give it a try. I hope it is infused with as much humor and cleverness as my other fics, and will therefore be somewhat less painful than you think.  
DEDICATIONS: This story is dedicated to the lovely Nori-sama, who is one of the only people in the world worth swallowing my pride and writing a Ginny/Draco for.  


 

 

 

**Dark Lord’s Little Helper**

 

 

Draco sat on the landing, shuffling his ‘Diabolical Doses Deck’ while he listened closely to the voices in the foyer. The landing was Draco’s favorite haunt in Malfoy Manor, as it was ideally situated to overhear conversations in many other parts of the house, all without being seen. 

 

“The Dark Lord, in his mercy and wisdom, saw fit to liberate you from Azkaban, and he expects your gratitude to be evident,” the chilly tones of Rodolphus Lestrange noted.

 

Draco concentrated on the cards, putting them in alphabetical order. _Deadly Nightshade._ He catalogued its properties in his head. _Also called Belladonna._ He glanced briefly at the picture on the cardboard, barely taking in the familiar plant with purplish-black berries _. All parts of the plant are highly toxic. Symptoms include…_

 

“And how, exactly, does he expect my ‘gratitude’ to manifest itself?” Draco heard his father respond. It was the same bored tone, the same cool amusement; but perhaps, just perhaps, a tad less confident than his pre-Azkaban attitude. Draco noted this, and wondered.

 

“Your son is nearly of age; it’s time he took the mark,” Bellatrix broke in with her shudder-inspiring screech. “It’s time he was made… _useful._ ” Draco paused, smoothing out a slight crease in one of the cards. They’d been a gift from Professor Snape a couple of years before he’d entered Hogwarts, and even though he had them memorized, they were comforting in their solidness and familiarity. Draco had always been slightly edgy, and it helped to have something to do with his hands.

 

“And is that…what my Lord requested?” Lucius responded slowly. Draco smiled slightly. His father wouldn’t simply turn him over to the Dark Lord to be—to be… _branded_ like cattle. Father had always said that he took the mark when he was young and foolish, and now didn’t see why one’s flesh should be marred just to show one’s loyalty. Of course, he didn’t say it _loudly_ , and never in company, but Draco was certain his father would never allow them to do that to _him_.

 

“It _is_ ,” Draco’s uncle affirmed. “After your failure in the Department of Mysteries, you ought to be glad our Master saw fit to include Draco in the list of Chosen—and the first of his generation! You seem distinctly…ambivalent about the prospect. Are you not pleased?” His tones were amused, and held a dark undercurrent of challenge.

 

“Of course I’m pleased,” Lucius responded, too hastily to sound casual to even the least perceptive listener.

 

Draco winced, shuffling. _False hellebore. Reaction time within twenty minutes._ “I shall send Draco tonight.” Draco froze. Surely not. Surely his mother, if no one else, would not let them take him.

 

“Good—” Rodolphus began, but his wife interrupted.

 

“You should be honored, my dear brother-in-law, very honored. To give your child to the cause—we should have done the same, of course, but we were in Azkaban for far too long, and now we have passed the chance. Need I say that I find it a _personal_ source of pride, that one with my bloodline shall be the next to give himself to my lord? It is good that he is not like that _other_ , who died at my hand—the _traitor._ Murdering Sirius was amusing, but I should hate to have to kill my own nephew.”

 

Perhaps Draco’s mother wasn’t even in the room. She hadn’t said one word, all night. She might not even be in the house. Perhaps she’d gone—“Yes. Yes, _my son_ is the first of his age to become worthy of the Dark Lord’s notice,” she abruptly said in a shaky voice. 

 

Hidden in the shadows on the landing, Draco froze. _Narcissus poeticus. Grown as a garden flower. Can cause paralysis, convulsions, collapse, and death…the bitch._

 

“I’m glad we are agreed,” his aunt announced from below, much too sweetly in Draco’s studied opinion. “We need not take the boy tonight. We might linger until the morning; after all, a long trip awaits us!” She cackled slightly, and Draco recoiled. And rumor had it that Potter thought _his_ aunt was a trial. 

 

Silently, Draco rose and clambered upstairs. When he was safely in his rooms, he called for his personal house elf. “Dixie!” 

 

She popped into the room immediately, saluting and looking inappropriately cheerful as she squeaked, “Yes, Master! If Master will tell Dixie what to do, she will _do_ it sir, yes, right away!” 

 

Grunting as he threw clothes into a pack (well, _throwing_ would be manual labor, so technically Draco was really using his wand to magic them folded and in), Draco didn’t spare the elf a passing glance. Time was of the essence. No crocodile-eyed, snake-skinned megalomaniac was coming to burn Draco’s beautiful skin with his stupid gang tag, or whatever it was called, nuh- _uh_. 

 

“Get me my broom, some food that doesn’t spoil easily and…and a map of England—a _detailed_ map,” he told her, and with another ‘pop’ she obeyed. 

 

By the time she returned a few minutes later, Draco had most of his belongings packed and shrunk and ready to go. “Good, okay, great,” he muttered, grabbing the food from her and shrinking it as well. Dixie immediately became hysterical with loud sobs, and Draco halted in mid wand-wave, horrified. He’d forgotten how badly house elves reacted to praise…and condemnation…and indifference…and sunlight. Basically, anyone who took any interest in a house elf had bought themselves an entertaining interlude of undiluted melodrama. 

 

“Oh! Master is saying Dixie is good! And Dixie only brought Master Draco some oranges and smoked meat and—”

 

“Yes, Dixie!” he interrupted in a desperate hiss, hoping no one else was privy to her histrionics. Why the hell did they have to be so _vocal_ about everything? “And it’s good, it’s all just fine, but now I need you to do something else for me! Right now!”

 

Dixie promptly stopped crying and looked up with an expectant, eager expression.

 

“Right now,” he continued between clenched teeth, “Master Draco needs you to _belt up_ , and _stay_ that way until the coast is clear! So be _quiet_. Like a mouse! Like a snake! Like a venomous spider! Until I’ve got well away!” 

 

Dixie nodded enthusiastically, and Draco whimpered continuously as he threw his belongings on the back of the broom. He quit as soon as he realized it. _After all,_ he thought as he mounted his broom and aimed it out the window, _Malfoys do not whimper. We may steal, and lie, and murder, and sell our precious firstborn sons to madmen and allow people to horribly mutilate their bodies, but we do not whimper._ Much.

 

 

Ginny stared up at the sky, holding her cardigan around her against the cool evening air. It really was a beautiful night—she just wished…she wasn’t sure _what_ she wished, anymore. She’d like to have someone to share moments like these with. Someone to look up at the great, scintillating moon and say, ‘Isn’t that awesome?’ or, ‘The moon sure is big tonight.’ Or even, ‘It’s a nice night out.’

 

Instead, what she heard was crashing and banging and ‘Don’t you dare do that to my cloak! I’ll tell Mum!’ as Ron, Harry, and the twins charged about the house like a bunch of elephants on the rampage. She _hated_ it when her parents went out and left the twins in charge. 

 

Finally, the back door opened, and Harry came out to join her. Feeling just a bit of a secret thrill, she turned to look at him. Harry gave her a lopsided grin, lifting a glass of butterbeer to his mouth and drinking deeply. He seemed to be covered in white dust. “Whoo!” he wheezed, wiping sweat from his face with the back of his hand, along with the white powder. “I think we’ve almost got all the brownies out of the cellar. It was actually kind of fun, but what a workout!”

 

Ginny managed a half smile at this, although it was really more of a grimace. “What did you get all over you?”

 

Harry shrugged. “I think there was an old can of pixie powder or something that Fred dropped on me. Doesn’t hurt or anything. Just made me sort of dizzy.” He took another sip of his drink and looked around. “Nice ‘n cool out here,” he commented. “Is that why you came out?”

 

Ginny shook her head. “No; it was a really clear night, so I thought I’d do some star gazing.”

 

Harry squinted up at the heavens. “Sounds dull. Isn’t that what Astronomy class is for? Waste of a summer, if you ask me.” 

 

Then Ron stuck his head outside. “Oi! You out here snogging Ginny or something? Come back downstairs—we found a bunch of Bill’s old _Playwizard_ under the stairs!”

 

Ginny gaped indignantly as Harry ambled back inside. _Men._ Huffing, she gathered her sweater a little more closely. Harry comes for a visit, and every single one of her brothers had turned into an idiot—correction, even _more_ of an idiot than usual—and took turns showing off every dangerous, stupid thing they’d ever done, in the interest of acquainting Harry with the wizarding world. 

 

Well, she’d had about enough of _all_ of them for tonight. She buttoned her sweater and marched inside, ignoring the whistles, howls and various exclamations coming from the basement. Her mum was visiting Aunt Patches, so it was no use looking for her—anyway, she’d only get angry if Ginny left the house without permission, just to track her down and ‘whine’ about the boys. Still, there was _no way_ she was going to hang about, bored out of her skull, and wait for Fred and George to decide to turn her hands into spatulas or something.

 

No. She was out of there. _Now_. There weren’t many places she was allowed to go on her own, but she felt certain she couldn’t get in _too_ much trouble if she just visited her Dad at work. He was really having to stay late a lot recently, and almost never made it home in time for supper. That reminded her—she _couldn’t_ get in trouble if she brought along some of Mum’s meatloaf. After all, Mum wouldn’t want Dad to _starve_ , would she?

 

Waiving her wand surreptitiously to bag the food, she listened at the top of the stairs for a few minutes. When she was sure the conversation was loud and intense and—above all—far more absorbing than anything a kid sister could say, she cleared her throat and called quickly, “I have to run an errand and bring Dad his dinner, be back in a couple of minutes!”

 

And she was greeted with a halfhearted chorus of ‘Sures,’ ‘Yeahs,’ ‘All rights,’ and ‘Whatevers’. She knew that would do the trick—all she had to do was approach the subject when they were distracted, make it sound like she was doing something dull, and imply that one of her parent’s had given their permission. Smiling grimly, she headed for the grate, where she grabbed some Floo powder from the mantle, leaned into the fire and said, “Ministry of Magic, employee’s entrance,” clearly. 

 

When she stepped out of the flames, she was met by the Ministry’s new Security Auror. He was a large, imposing man with a very red nose, who had a round desk in the middle of the hall. When she explained, sweetly and with as much innocence as she could muster, that she was only there to bring her father his supper, he scowled suspiciously at her for a long moment. “What’s your father’s name?” he finally asked in a gruff voice.

 

“Arthur Weasley,” she responded readily, willing him to see her as a harmless little girl. “He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, level two.”

 

“Well,” he grumbled a bit, eyeing her speculatively. “Let me give a call down there and let him know.” At this, he leaned over to his desk and pulled a golden switch. Instantly, it spun round and turned into what looked like a trumpet. “Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts,” he said.

 

Arthur Weasley’s voice came out of the horn end. “Yes? What is it; I’m rather busy at the moment…” he trailed off.

 

“I’ve got a visitor for you at the security desk,” the man said, “but if you’re not expecting her—”

 

“It’s me, Dad; Ginny,” Ginny interrupted at the trumpet.

 

“Goodness! Ginny! Why aren’t you at home with your brothers? There hasn’t been—”

 

“No, nothing’s wrong,” she interrupted again. “I just had to bring you some supper.” Once again, she’d been careful with her choice of words— _had_ , rather than just ‘wanted to.’ 

 

“Well, all right. You remember the way to my office, don’t you?” her father’s voice floated back to her.

 

“Oh, sure! I’ve been there loads of times—” she began, but the Security Auror cleared his throat. 

 

“I’m sorry, Mister Weasley, but you’ll have to come up and get her. She can’t be allowed to wander ‘round on her own at night, and I’ve got my hands full with other things, so I can’t bring her down. Don’t know what’s wrong with this place; it isn’t a playground. We can’t have children roaming about, mucking things up and getting into mischief.”

 

Ginny’s father said something in response, but she missed it, because she happened to look where the Auror was carelessly gesturing while he spoke.

 

Standing against one wall, looking shaky, furious, and even more pale than usual, was Draco Malfoy.


	3. Dark Lord’s Little Helper, Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny is certain Draco is up to no good. Draco is certain that Ginny is crazy. They might both be right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUCH THANKS to my roomy, the Gallant Gemsbok, for beta’ing this, for his invaluable assistance with the frustrating ‘bite’ scene, and for being a samurai warrior and buying me ‘A Muggle’s Guide to the Wizarding World, Exploring the HARRY POTTER Universe,’ which is sure to come in most handy for my fanfic writing.

DEDICATIONS: This story is (as you well know) dedicated to the lovely Nori-sama, who once bought me something. It was a picture tree. Yes. So now you know her glory. Tremble in awe.  


**Draco Malfoy, Arachnid Hunter**

When Ron and Harry saw Draco, Ginny was almost certain there was going to be a fight. Fred and George had Floo’d back to their flat over the shop, so they wouldn’t add to the commotion, but Ginny knew there’d be quite enough without them, although they’d be sorry they missed it.

Draco scowled horribly at them before following Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen, while Ron howled, “What is HE doing here?” 

Harry merely pushed his glasses up his nose and glared at Malfoy as if his life depended on it. Which, Ginny had to admit, it very well might—at least in a way. Glaring wasn’t going to help anything, but Draco may have been sent to get at Harry, so he certainly warranted keeping an eye on. Ginny was determined to do just that.

So thinking, she plunked herself down in the chair beside him, while her mother scooped extra-large helpings of kidney pie onto plates for Harry and Draco, and more regular sized servings for everyone else. Harry dug in happily, while Draco tried valiantly to mask his disgust. When Molly was finally finished serving, she got a plate for herself, and Draco leapt to pull her seat out for her.

Everyone stared. 

“What. Are you. Doing?” Ron enquired through clenched teeth, his face red.

“Pardon _me,_ ” Draco responded superciliously. “That’s just what we _do_ where I come from, when a lady is about to sit. I’m sorry if that was some sort of gross faux-pas, in your world.”

“Not at all,” Molly immediately countered, obviously taken with the lad. “That was a very sweet gesture.” Ron looked like he might explode, and Harry put a hand on his arm. “Now, Arthur. Tell me what’s going on, that Dumbledore felt we could be of service.”

As Arthur explained, glossing over some details, Ron and Harry glowered at Draco with seething ire, while Draco picked non-existent bits of lint from his sleeves with great nonchalance. 

Ron and Harry tried to interrupt a couple of times to ask questions, but were told that it was ‘you-know-what business,’ and they oughtn’t ask poor Draco anything, either. Ginny’s mum was of the opinion he’d been through enough. Ginny overheard her saying so later, explaining to Ron and Harry that they should be nice to the other boy.

“Just think how you’d feel, if your father and I had sent you off to serve a madman, without a second thought,” she admonished Ron.

“Couldn’t be worse than when I was younger and you let the twins sit for me,” Ron countered.

“That _isn’t funny_ , Ron,” Molly said in a scandalized tone. “Imagine your own family turning against you like that! It’s a crime, is what it is. And now that poor boy is all alone, and you’re to be nice to him, do you understand? It took a great deal of bravery for him to do what he did.”

“What; chicken out and run to Dumbledore for protection?” Harry later whispered to Ron in a scoffing voice.

“It’s a plot to get you, Harry,” Ron replied in a tense voice. “You mark my words. We’ll have to sleep in shifts, to make sure the bugger doesn’t try anything funny.”

“Right,” Harry nodded seriously. “And if he _does_ try something, I’m ready to hex him to Haiti. Who got the best Defence end of years in the school? I did. Who lived through an attack by Voldemort before he was old enough to walk? I did. Who—”

“—Brags so much you’d think his head would burst like an overripe fruit?” a teasing voice came from the hall, and the kids turned to see Remus Lupin standing in the hall with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

“Remus!” Harry crowed, running over to the man. “Why are _you_ here?”

The werewolf sighed. “Checking in on the runaway,” he explained. “ _And_ dropping in to see my favourite students. How’ve you been, Harry? Did the two of you see the Puddlmere-Chudley game?”

“It was great!” Harry responded with enthusiasm, and Ginny retreated to the living room. 

As she took her favourite book of the shelf and settled into the springy sofa to read a while, Ginny reflected that she agreed with Ron and Harry about the whole thing. Malfoy _had_ to be after Harry. It was the only possible explanation. After all, he was a total creep, and had practically _bragged_ about his father being a Death Eater. He did everything he could to make Harry’s life a living hell. Harry...

Ginny’s head fell back as she began fantasizing. She’d _always_ had a crush on Harry. He was just so brave and nice and honest. _And totally not interested in you,_ a dry voice in her head spoke up, and she sighed unhappily. It was true; Harry had never shown the slightest inclination that he might fancy her. Well, it wasn’t _so_ bad. She _was_ pretty much over Harry. Part of it had to do with growing up. Another part just had to do with her own sense of pride. 

Ginny had _tried_ being what she though Harry wanted; sporty, cute, dependant, daring. Nothing worked. She’d studied Cho Chang, and eventually decided that the only thing Chang was that _she_ wasn’t was Asian. And while Ginny liked Harry an awful lot, she wasn’t going to go changing her race to make him like her. That was just stupid. Besides, she was _proud_ of being a Weasley, and being a Weasley meant red hair and freckles. If she didn’t have red hair, she wouldn’t be a Weasley, and then what would she be? 

Ginny’s book fell onto her lap, forgotten. _Still, it’d be nice if **someone** noticed me, _she reckoned. Michael Corner had seemed forever ago, and Dean Thomas had told her flat out that she was too young for his tastes. She thought that might have had something to do with the way Ron looked homicidal whenever Dean got near, though. Leaning her head against the back of the couch, Ginny drifted off thinking about boys, and magic, and princes who knew how to waltz and didn’t belch loudly or light things on fire.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Draco, dear, you can stay in Bill’s old room,” Mrs. Weasley informed him. “It’s a bit small, but it’s got a nice view of the garden. Why don’t you run along and take your things up, and get settled in?”

Draco scowled, but did as he was told. They were only trying to get rid of him in order to ‘discuss the situation’ without him around, he was sure. Bloody Weasleys didn’t even offer to carry his things up, and Dumbledore had stressed the fact that he must not use magic before going back to Hogwarts. Bunch of sadists. Once he got upstairs, he found the Weasel blocking the way.

“Where’s Potty?” he inquired politely, although it wasn’t as though he actually cared.

“Changing,” Ron replied. “We take turns, so we don’t have to…you know, _see_ each other.”

Draco smirked. “Rampant masculinity in the modern age,” he remarked dryly. He tried to step around the Weasel, but Ron didn’t budge for him. “Move it, you penniless tosser,” he ordered. “I need to get past.”

“This is _my_ house, Malfoy, and you don’t order me around in it, understand?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Your _lovely mother_ sent me to put my things away, so why don’t you move so I can do just that?”

“Don’t you talk about my mother that way!” Ron shouted, causing Draco to roll his eyes again.

“Don’t force me to manhandle you, Weasel,” Draco warned, bunching up his fist as Ron towered over him

Suddenly, the redhead screamed. “Aughh! Get it away from me!”

Draco found this very satisfying. “Hah. That’s right, chap…now you know what you’re messing with!”

“Don’t be stupid!” Ron hollered at him, covering his head with his arms. “I wasn’t talking about you! I was talking about the spider!”

“There’s a spider?” Harry’s muffled voice called through the door. “Don’t worry,” he added, sounding rather hassled. “I’ll take care of it in a minute.”

Malfoy looked up to see a rather large, hairy arachnid slowly descending from the ceiling. “Ugh,” he grunted, disgusted. “And I had hoped _you people_ were the only vermin, here.” 

“Augh! Augh! It’s coming after me!” Ron cried hysterically as the spider dropped another foot, coming within a few inches of him. He squashed himself up against the wall to get away from it, cowering.

“I’ll get it in a _second_ ,” Harry called out, exasperated. “I just need to find my pyjama top. I’m sure I have one…”

Malfoy scowled at the door. “You need Potter to save you from _insects,_ too? Hey, Potter, is that in the job description for Saviour of the Wizarding World? ‘Able to wield mighty swords, leap tall buildings, and eradicate small household pests?’” He glanced down at Weasley, who was whimpering. Apparently, he _did_ need Potter to save him from spiders.

“Hurry, Harry,” Ron moaned, grimacing.

Draco sighed. “For Merlin’s sake, he’s not the only one who can vanquish this particular little foe. Just calm down and try not to wet yourself,” he ordered, looking around for a likely object. Finally he settled on Molly Weasley’s small statue of Yorrick the Yokel, yanked it off the top of the display case, and brandished it wildly. “Ha! I am Malfoy, Lord of the Spider Slayers!” He made a wild swipe at the spider and missed, cutting the thread it was clinging to.

It tumbled to the floor and scuttled towards Ron, who promptly began shrieking like a banshee.

“Oh, stop being such a baby,” Draco muttered. He raised the statue above his head. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Ginny awoke, she knew she couldn’t have been asleep long, because there were still voices in the hallway. Agitated voices. Groggily, she sat up. Was that Ron? Why was he gibbering like that? He sounded frightened. Getting to her feet, she began gingerly making her way toward the commotion. 

She turned the corner in time to see her brother crouched on the floor, arms curled round his head and legs protectively. Draco was standing next to him, with her grandmother’s heirloom statue held high above his head. 

“One whack and it’ll all be over!” He brought the statue down in an arc, hitting the floor by Ron’s foot.

Ginny gaped in horror.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Draco missed. The spider ran under Ron’s leg, causing the redhead to squeal and writhe away. “Augh! Get away!” Ron screamed.

The arachnid tried to cram itself into the relative safety of the crack where the wall met the floor. “Get back here, I’m not through with you!” Draco shouted, by now rather enjoying himself in the role of Insect Hunter. He raised his arm to give the bug a final whack, when he was suddenly tackled by a small, redheaded fury.

“Don’t you dare!” Ginny was screeching angrily. “I’ll teach you to try murdering my brother!” They tumbled and rolled across the hall, Draco valiantly attempting to fend off her wild blows, which were going to leave _marks_ , damn it.

“Are you MAD?” he howled. “Get off of me, you red haired wench!” He squirmed, trying to shove her off, but Ginny was sitting on his knees and had him well pinned.

Ron was being of no use, still squalling and trying to get away from the spider. The door to the room flew open, and Potter leapt out, shoe in hand. “Where is it?” he panted, ignoring Ginny and Draco. He plonked the shoe down a couple of times, dispatching the unfortunate spider.

Ginny was too busy to take any notice of this. “Ha! You thought it’d be safe to attack him when I was the only one around, did you?” Ginny snarled. “NEVER mess with a WEASLEY!” The ferret was struggling and shoving, but he was no match for the fiery haired girl. “I’ll see you in Azkaban for attempted murder!” she yowled. Draco clapped a hand over her mouth. Ginny bit down hard.

Draco yelped. “AAAUUUGGGHH! Your rabid brat of a sister just BIT ME! I’M GOING TO SUE!” 

“Ginny!” Ron cried, and hurried to haul the girl off of Malfoy. “Stop it, Ginny; what’s the _matter_ with you?” 

By now, Mister and Mrs. Weasley had arrived on the scene, as well as Remus Lupin. They were all crowded around, trying to figure out what was going on.

“I saw the whole thing! He was going to _bludgeon you!_ ” Ginny declared to Ron dramatically, pointing at Draco. “I had to do something, so I tackled him. It worked, didn’t it? I managed to hold him down until you could get up again.”

“You little _twit_ ,” Ron said with amused irritation. “He wasn’t going to bludgeon _me_ , he was aiming for the _spider_.”

“I’ve killed it,” Harry said quietly, holding it up by a leg. “I’ll just throw it outside, shall I?” he added, as Ron shuddered.

“And there goes my moment of glory,” Draco sighed. “All because of a meddling little girl.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Ginny glared. Ron was starting to snicker at her, and even Harry was laughing as he left to dispose of the spider. How was _she_ to know there was a spider involved? It wasn’t as though she could even _see_ it from that far away. Her mother patted her shoulder. 

“I think it’s past someone’s bedtime.”

Ginny flushed with anger. “Look, all I saw was Malfoy standing over Ron with a statue in his hand, yelling about whacking him. All right? It was an honest mistake.”

Remus was helping Draco to his feet, while her dad apologized to the ferret. “I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it,” he explained. “Ginny just gets a bit excited sometimes. I’m sorry she overreacted.”

With a frustrated shake of her head, Ginny fled to the sanctuary of her bedroom.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Draco couldn’t sleep. Part of that was because of the ghoul in the attic, who had seemed to take rather a shine to Draco and enjoyed stomping back and forth above his head. Draco had yelled at it and thrown a shoe at the ceiling, but this had not improved matters, especially as said shoe had hit him on the head on its return earthward. He rubbed the lump, scowling upward.

The ghoul, however, was a rather minor problem compared to everything else in his life. For one thing, Draco was far from everything he ever knew, minus the Weasleys, which was a damn shame to put it lightly. He was outcast from his own kind. It was a tragedy. Unwanted, unappreciated, he’d been thrown to the wolves, having to make his way amongst the savages and little people, so unlike his ilk. He didn’t know what an ilk was, but he liked the sound of it. 

It wasn’t really like that, though. No one had _thrown_ him out, exactly. They were just ready to turn him into some poor, sacrificial lamb. His own family! Not that he was terribly surprised; his own father had hinted that Grandfather Malfoy had needed the assistance of a pillow over the face in his reclining years; murder was practically a family _tradition_. 

No, the fact that his father had been prepared to shunt him into the service of a whack job who might get him killed hadn’t been the bit that bothered him the most. What bothered him the most was that his father was in the service of a psycho. He supposed he saw the sense in Lucius deciding to bow down to Lord Voldemort—after all, it _had_ to be better than dying a thousand fiery deaths. On the other hand, that his father was serving _anyone_ was a painful thought. He was supposed to be a Malfoy, not a—a _second banana._ He’d never thought of his father as a second banana, a henchman. It was a disturbing idea. Henchhood happened to other people. Henchpeople served the Malfoys. It was the natural order of things.

Suddenly, Draco had an odd panging feeling. Was he lonely? He didn’t suppose he knew. He was an only child, after all. And it wasn’t as though he had any actual _friends._ He had Crabbe and Goyle, henchmen in their own right. While it was a fulfilling relationship in a number of ways, there _were_ times when trying to carry on a conversation with one or the other of them left him unsatisfied. As droning henchmen they were perfect, but they were ill adapted for actual friendship. After all, they could hardly keep up with Draco in witty repartee, and it was highly doubtful either of them could _spell_ Machiavellian, let alone truly assist in any grand schemes of that nature. No, Draco was completely alone.

His stomach felt hollow, and he rolled onto it, revelling in self-pity. How thoroughly unappreciated he was! Why could no one see the inherent greatness of Draco Malfoy? His stomach gave a little lurch. Perhaps he _was_ lonely. Is that what this had all led to, then? Was he to be reduced to the ranks of the lowly rabble that assaulted the great castle with their torches and pitchforks? Would he be forgotten, relegated to the footnotes of history? It was so unfair. And he _was_ lonely. What else could explain that empty feeling inside?

His stomach growled. _Wait a moment; you’re not **lonely**_ **,** _you’re **hungry** , you wealthy, charming jackass! You’ve had nothing to eat all night._ He sat up. Perhaps there was something, _somewhere_ in the pantry downstairs that was _just_ edible. He had to try. He owed it to the world not to starve to death. Throwing his silk robe over his shoulders, he padded to the door to find some food. _Ha!_ he thought. _I’m not lonely! I’m Draco Malfoy! Draco Malfoy is an island! He needs no one! He needs nothing! Except, perhaps, a lovely bit of pate and a few crackers…_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ginny tossed and turned. They’d _laughed_ at her. Like she was a stupid child! It was so unfair. Why did no one understand? It was so hard to be the youngest. Nobody took her seriously enough. She had a lot to offer the world—she just wished the world would _see_ that.

Sighing, she sat up. Maybe a glass of water would help her think more clearly. After all, it didn’t do to sulk about it. Life with the twins had taught her at an early age that crying never helped anything. If you landed on your tailbone, you got right back up, dusted yourself off, and tried to see where you went wrong. If she _had_ gone wrong. After all, if Malfoy had missed and whomped Ron on the head, the little ferret probably wouldn’t have been very sorry. 

Stepping into her slippers, she slipped quietly out her door. There had to be _something_ she could do to make them all see what an asset she’d be to the Order. After all, Ron and Harry were the ones who always did stupid things and got into trouble. At least she was _sensible._

As she began making her way down the hall, Ginny heard a strange noise and froze, listening. She strained her eyes and saw a shadowy form slinking towards Ron’s room from the opposite direction. A beam of moonlight glinted off the prowler’s hair, and Ginny held back a gasp. _Malfoy._ And it looked as though he was still after Harry—or perhaps Ron. He was reaching his hand out and touching the door…

“ _Malfoy!_ _What are you doing sneaking around the house in the dead of night?_ ” she hissed, grabbing his arm and yanking him away from the door.

“Unhand me, you wretched, redheaded rottweiler!” he responded in an indignant whisper. “I’ve still got tooth marks across my palm, thanks to you.”

“I didn’t bite you that hard—and anyway, you deserved it,” she shot back.

“You _did_ bite me that hard; I _bled_ ,” he responded. “And if that’s the thanks I get for selflessly attempting to rescue your brother from a venomous, fanged tarantula, then I’m not certain the hero-ing gig is worth it.”

“I saw that spider—that _Harry_ killed—and it wasn’t fanged or venomous!”

“It might have been! You can’t prove it wasn’t!”

“Malfoy! What are you doing wandering round the house?” she demanded.

“I’m _hungry_ , if you must know,” he informed her. “I couldn’t subsist on your mother’s various-organ pie, so I thought I’d rummage in the kitchens and see if I could find something.”

“My mother is a wonderful cook!” Ginny replied, outraged. “Just ask Harry! He _loves_ everything she makes.”

“Excuse me for pointing this out, but wasn’t Potter raised in a cupboard and fed table scraps for most of his life? According to popular legend, anyway. Look, I just need a slice of bread or something. I’ve eaten all the oranges Dixie packed, and the smoked meat is frankly _rancid_. I’m going to _starve_ if I can’t get a snack of some sort.”

Ginny frowned. “Well, I—”

A muffled shout interrupted her, and Draco cocked his head. “Did that come from your brother’s room?”

Ginny scrabbled for the door handle. “Yes! It must be Voldemort!”

“ _Auughghh!_ I knew it! He’s here to burn his hideous logo into my beautiful skin!” He turned to flee back down the hallway, but Ginny grabbed hold of his robe. “Let go! You’ll tear the silk!” he cried.

“You idiot! He’s not after you; he wants _Harry_ ,” she informed him. 

He tried to jerk the fabric from her grip. “How does that improve anything? Let me go so I can polish my running away and screaming skills!”

“Black snake! Black….snake!” Harry’s voice yelled hoarsely, and they could hear Ron muttering anxiously behind the door.

“We have to save them!” Ginny roared at Draco. “You stand here and fight like a man, damn it! Or am I going to have to thump you?” She gave him her most menacing look, and said, “Which one of us are you more afraid of? I’m the one that’s holding your robe.”

Draco sighed. “And I know from first hand experience that you _do_ bite,” he said. “Very well.” He slipped his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at the door. “We’ll do this on the count of three. One...two...three!”


	4. Dark Lord's Little Helper, Chapter 4

SUMMARY

: In which Harry screams in the night, Ginny and Draco overhear, a sandwich is eaten, and Draco most definitely does not flirt. He merely adapts to a difficult situation by attempting to create an ally out of Ginny. Yeah, that’s it.

  


  


** DEDICATIONS ** : This story is dedicated to Nori, who told me I was brilliant. She may be right. What am I talking about? Of course she’s right!

  


  


**Prince Charming, or at least Prince Petulant**

  


  


“One…two…three!”

  


  


Ginny turned the knob and threw her weight on it, almost falling into the room. A flash of movement to her right caused her to react by flinging a hand out, snatching hold of the robe of the escaping aristocrat. “Get back here, you bloody chicken!” she growled at him. Draco reluctantly followed her into the room.

  


  


There was no sign of Voldemort in Ron’s darkened bedroom—just Ron, kneeling on the floor, and Harry stretched out next to him. Harry was twitching in his sleep, and he let out a pained whimper. One hand fumbled blindly up to cover his scar.

  


  


Ron looked up at Ginny as she entered the room, his face worried. “I can’t wake him up,” he told her. “You reckon we ought to wake Dad?”

  


  


Draco studied Harry over Ginny’s shoulder. He pointed his wand at the sleeping youth, and Ron leapt in front of it.

  


  


“Don’t even try it, Death Eater in training!” the redhead snarled, arms out defensively, his own wand still sitting on his nightstand.

  


  


Draco’s face seemed to freeze for a moment, before it took on its characteristic sneer. “Don’t be such a drama queen,” he retorted, and brushed Ron’s hand away, stepping past him and crouching beside Harry. Yanking Harry’s hand away from his face, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry’s scar and said crisply, “ _Cessa Somnia!_ ” 

  


  


Harry sat up with a gasp, his eyes popping open wide. “Oh my God,” he said in a ragged breath.

  


  


Ron turned to Ginny, eyes flashing with anger. “Did that sound like a dark spell to you? That sounded like a dark spell to me. Was that a dark spell you just cast on Harry?” he demanded of Malfoy.

  


  


Draco inclined his head, acknowledging, without shame, that it was.

  


  


“That figures,” Ron muttered. “Daddy probably tutored him in the Dark Arts after studies in hair maintenance every morning.”

  


  


“Oh yes, right after the hour allotted for practicing poisoning the house elves, and just before training to be obsequious to the Dark Lord,” Draco responded sarcastically.

  


  


Harry rubbed his forehead, groaning. “What happened?”

  


  


Ginny leaned over, scrutinizing him with concern. “I think you were having a nightmare. D’you remember what it was about? Was it—was it _him_?”

  


  


Harry nodded, his face in his hands. “I don’t really remember much, though.”

  


  


“You yelled something about a snake; we heard it from the hall,” Draco pointed out, and Harry’s head snapped up.

  


  


“That’s right,” he said, eyes narrowing. “A black snake. And—and my mother. I think. Voldemort was talking about a snake, and my house and my mother—or her family. Or something,” he said. Harry bit his lip. “Reckon he meant the Dursleys?” He looked to Ron.

  


  


Ron shrugged uncomfortably. “No knowing, mate. Er…what do you want to do about it? Should I—should I wake Mum and Dad?”

  


  


Harry frowned. “I don’t know. It’s all such a jumble in my head, you know? I kind of want to…think about it awhile. Let’s not wake everyone up over it. Let me go back to sleep and see if I dream anything else about him, and maybe I’ll have decided what to do by morning.”

  


  


Even Ron was eyeing Harry uncomfortably. “Er…if you’re sure, mate,” was all he said.

  


  


Draco was less courteous. “You _want_ to have more nightmares? You _want_ to dream about Voldemort? Are you _insane_?”

  


  


Ginny gave Harry a stern look. “Look, Harry; this is what happened…before. When Sirius died. I think you ought to tell someone. You don’t want to make the same mistake twice, do you?”

  


  


Harry gave her a dark look, his temper beginning to flare. “Why don’t you stay out of it?” Ron tried to interrupt, but Harry waved him to silence. “Don’t you _dare_ compare this to Sirius getting killed; I’m not rushing off to save the day, am I? All I said is that I want to sleep on it, and I do. Besides, this really isn’t any of your business.”

  


  


Ginny’s cheeks burned, and she dug her nails into her palms to keep from bursting out about how stupid and arrogant he was being. “You’re not going to _let_ him, are you Ron?” she asked her brother.

  


  


Ron didn’t meet her eyes. “Well…it’s not as if I can stop him, and anyway, it _is_ his decision. I mean…just let up, would you Gin? Harry’s okay. Let him get some rest, would you? This happens all the time; you don’t need to make such a big deal out of it.”

  


  


Ginny shook her head, hair fanning out behind her wildly. She glared at Harry. “Fine, then— _go_ back to sleep, you—you half-wit hero. I’m going to bed, too—and if anything happens to you _or_ your Muggle family, it won’t be _my_ fault.”

  


  


“But I’m still _hungry_ ,” Draco whined.

  


  


Ginny let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. Fine!” She grabbed hold of his robe again and dragged him out the door. “Harry can go to sleep like a selfish prick, Ron can do everything Harry says like a gutless wonder, and Draco can come downstairs and be spoon-fed like a big damn baby.” She turned and marched out the door, shooting over her shoulder, “You all make me _sick_.” Ron and Harry watched her go, mouths hanging open.

  


  


Draco yanked his sleeve back when they were halfway down the stairs. “You needn’t lead me about like a dog on a leash,” he said. “And while we’re at it, I shall not require ‘spoon feeding.’ I simply need to be pointed in the correct direction of available foodstuffs, and, if you like, monitored so that you all know I was eating said foodstuffs, as opposed to poisoning them.”

  


  


“Wouldn’t put it past you,” Ginny grated.

  


  


“Thank you,” Malfoy replied graciously. “It’s an honour to have earned your mistrust.”

  


  


“You’re an idiot.”

  


  


“Well, perhaps once in a while, but I am _not_ a ‘big damn baby.’ I do not need nappies or bottles. Although the occasional breast feeding would be an offer to consid—OW!” He rubbed his bicep where Ginny’s sharp knuckles had scored a direct hit. “You know, for someone under five feet tall, you’re _dangerous,_ ” he told her, his voice frankly admiring. “Just a bit too blunt to make a good Slytherin, though,” he added, trailing behind her as they entered the kitchen. 

  


  


Ginny ignored him, yanking a plate out of the cupboard and thumping it on the table. 

  


  


“Slytherins have got to be cunning, and you lack subtlety,” Draco went on, not oblivious to her scowl as she stomped over to get the bread, then set about spreading jam on it in a way that indicated she’d much rather be using the knife in a different fashion. “You’re _mangling_ my sandwich,” he pointed out. In truth, Draco was rather enjoying himself. Potter so rarely rose to his baiting these days, and the Weasel was hardly a challenge. _This one’s quicker on the uptake,_ he thought, leaning back as Ginny whipped round, almost hitting him the face with her hair. _But rather feisty, and it’s quite gratifying that she thinks I’m a trusted agent of evil, sent to destroy Potter and her brother. No one else takes me seriously._

  


  


“Here’s your stupid sandwich, you chauvinistic pig,” she spat, smacking the dish in front of him.

  


  


He gave her his most innocent look in response. “Ah, that’s what I like about these little roadside Bed and Breakfasts—service with a smile!” He prodded the offering with a well-manicured finger. “Cut the crusts off,” he ordered.

  


  


Ginny looked at him in disbelief. First he goes making smutty remarks about her breasts, and now he thought he could get all heavy-handed about her cooking? “Look, buddy,” she told him, poking him in the chest with the butter knife, “If you want your sandwich all la-dee-da sans crust, you can do it your stuck-up self! I’m getting more than a little sick of you, _and_ your Death Eater on Vacation routine.”

  


  


Draco glanced down at the still-jammy butter knife, amused. “What are you going to do, saw my head off? I’m nearly ready to stand patiently and _let_ you. If this _is_ some kind of holiday, it’s quite the worst I’ve ever experienced. The hostess has frightful cooking, the maid _bites_ , the bellhops _refuse_ to carry my luggage—and look as though they’d assault me as well, if they could—and the only one in the whole place that’s been particularly friendly so far is the ghoul. Don’t expect a tip.”

  


  


Ginny found herself horrified when the corner of one of her lips fought to twitch upwards. “Yeah? Well don’t expect a mint on your pillow. And don’t call me the maid—and I _don’t_ think it’s a coincidence that Harry has his first nightmare of the summer the exact time that you show up.”

  


  


Malfoy’s face went stony at this. He shrugged tightly. “Might not be, I suppose, although it’s hardly any of my doing,” he said, deftly removing the knife from her fingers and cutting the crusts off his sandwich. He sank into one of the kitchen chairs, his eyes distant. “I wonder what that was all about— _black snake_ ,” he murmured.

  


  


Ginny shuddered. “The only snake I know much about is the basilisk,” she said. “For reasons that I _definitely_ don’t want to have to remember.”

  


  


“Your family is frightened of the _oddest_ things,” Draco remarked, taking a small bite. “Spiders, snakes…little things that won’t even hurt you if you just leave them the hell alone.”

  


  


“The snake I saw was _not_ little,” Ginny retorted. “And my brother was once attacked by a monster group of spiders.” She sat across from him, thinking back to Harry’s nightmare. “Do _you_ know what a black snake is?”

  


  


Draco shrugged. “It’s just a snake that’s black. I think they have quite a few of them in Australia. They’re venomous, but certainly not the most venomous kind of snake there is. There’s nothing particularly special about them that I know of—they’re not fast or sly or magical or anything. They’re just snakes.”

  


  


“Huh,” Ginny replied, setting her chin on her hand. “I hope Harry tells someone. He can be so _stubborn_ sometimes.”

  


  


“Perfect Potter? Stubborn? Do tell.” Draco shifted and crossed his legs in an overly feminine fashion, and gestured at Ginny with a limp wrist. “And does he wet the bed, as well? Leave the toilet seat up? Come on, _dish_. I’m in the mood for a bit of gossip. Spill it, Sister. I want to hear all his bad habits, all the details. Don’t leave anything out.”

  


  


Ginny snorted, turning her head to try to hide her smile. “You’re an absolute _dork_ ,” she informed him, shoulders shaking a little.

  


  


Draco gave her a wicked grin. “But you’re _laughing,_ aren’t you? Admit it, I made you laugh! Come now, it doesn’t do for good little Gryffindors to lie; you’re laughing, and I’m the one that did it. Ah, then my evil plan _is_ working! Surely soon you’ll succumb to my wit. Imagine how baffled the investigators will be—‘She seems to have _died laughing_.’ Today, a chuckle—tomorrow, the world!”

  


  


Ginny shook her head a little, no longer hiding her smile. “All right, so you’re kind of amusing, when you’re not being a complete jerk. Hurry up with that sandwich, I’m ready to get some sleep.” 

  


  


Draco insisted on walking her back to her room, in case Voldemort was lurking somewhere in the house—and then insisted on her walking him to his, on the same grounds. “After all,” he reasoned, “ _You’re_ the one who bites. If he comes at me, all I need do is cry, ‘Sic him, Ginny!’ He’ll never see it coming. We’ll take him by surprise. And then we’ll do photo shoots and interviews afterward, and you can describe my brilliant plan while the cameras love me, as they always do.” 

  


  


Ginny rolled her eyes and started to walk away. Partway down the hall she realized that Draco was still standing in the doorway, watching her. She turned to see him silhouetted against the bedroom light. “Are you watching to make sure I get back to my room okay?” she asked accusingly, trying hard not to smile.

  


  


Draco jerked as if surprised. “Of course not! I’m merely making certain you don’t turn around and attack me again at the last moment. That _is_ the sort of thing you’d do, and I’m already going to have to get an anti-rabies potion, just in case.” 

  


  


Ginny could hear the teasing grin in his voice, and her own smile softened just a little. “Goodnight, you overgrown mama’s boy. Just scream like a girl if you need me.” She started walking away again.

  


  


“Thanks,” he called dryly after her. “The service is improving. I guess maybe I won’t regret not going to the villa on the Continent, after all.”

  


  


When Ginny got to her bedroom door, she paused. “And Draco? Thanks…for earlier. The joking, and all that. I needed that. I guess maybe you aren’t _so_ bad. _Maybe_.”

  


  


“All women fall to my irresistible charm, eventually,” Draco said smugly, and she shook her head, closing the door behind her. 

  


  


  


  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

  


  


  


The next morning at breakfast, Ginny watched Harry out of the corner of her eye. He looked suspiciously tired, his shoulders slumped and his hair even messier than usual. Draco, sitting across from him, looked impeccable in a white dress shirt and silvery-grey robes, his gestures elegant, his face serene, and every last hair perfectly in place. If she didn’t know better, Ginny never would have been able to tell he’d been running around for half the night. 

  


  


“Pass the butter, would you please?” he sweetly asked Harry, and smiled a little when the Boy Who Lived To Look Like Death Would Be An Improvement glared at him, green eyes glittering with repressed malice.

  


  


“Oh, I’m so glad you’re eating, Draco,” Molly Weasley told him. “You’ll need your strength today, to help out with the chores.”

  


  


“You’re pancakes are divine, Mrs. Weasley, particularly with a bit of lemon,” he responded, giving her a charming smile, which began to wilt as her words had another chance to run round his brain. “Er. What chores?”

  


  


“The garden is full of thorny creeping ambush sprouts, and I need it weeded before they really take root. You and Ginny will need to get that done, and I’m having Ron and Harry clean out the attic.”

  


  


Ron groaned, and she turned on him. “Don’t you take that woe-is-me attitude, Ronald. I want that attic emptied. It’s full of old stuff of Bill and Charlie’s, as well as various other things that none of us use anymore. I want you to carry it all out to the shed. Your father needs that room to keep some of his things from… _work_.”

  


  


By that, Ginny realized her mother was talking about Order stuff, and Ron must have realized the same, because he perked up considerably. “Really?” he said. “I bet Harry and I will be finished long before you and ferret-boy,” he added, smirking at Ginny.

  


  


“Yeah? Bet you a Sickle you’re not,” Ginny challenged with a smile. “The attic’s full-up of odds and ends. All we have are a few little plants to deal with.”

  


  


“Correction; you have a few little plants _and_ a Malfoy to deal with,” Ron told her gleefully. “Sorry, but I think you definitely got the worse end of the deal.”

  


  


“Ha, bloody ha,” Malfoy said sourly at Ron. “Malfoys are _experts_ at getting their way—be it politics, romance, or horticulture. And I’ll _raise_ your sister’s Sickle to _two_ Sickles, how’s that? Or is that too rich for your blood? Ouch! Why are you constantly _doing_ that?” he turned, giving Ginny a pained look. He gently prodded his ribs where she’d elbowed him. “I swear, Weasel, your sister is some kind of sadist. She takes _pleasure_ in bruising my beautiful body.”

  


  


“Shouldn’t have sat next to her, then,” Ron said without sympathy. He nudged Harry, who was falling asleep in his orange juice. “Right?”

  


  


“Mph,” was all Harry replied.

  


  


“You _were_ the one who decided to sit next to me,” Ginny noted. “And since you _know_ I bite, wouldn’t that make you as much of a masochist as it does me a sadist?” She gave him an arch look over the top of her glass, and got confused when Draco darted a mischievous look at Ron.

  


  


Malfoy scooted his chair closer to hers. “But I _like_ a girl with spirit!”

  


  


Ron turned flaming red. “YOU KEEP YOUR DEATH-EATING HANDS OFF OF MY LITTLE SISTER!” he hollered. 

  


  


“ _Ronald Weasley_! You keep your voice down,” his mother immediately reprimanded him. 

  


  


His father glanced up from the paper he was reading long enough to mutter, “Listen to your mother.”

  


  


Mrs. Weasley plunked his cup down in front of him. “I’m sure Draco was just teasing you.” Still, she darted a slightly worried look at the aristocrat as she passed by.

  


  


“Oh, don’t worry Mrs. Weasley,” he responded, eyes round and earnest. “I’d never _dream_ of taking advantage of your daughter. I’m a _gentleman_.”

  


  


Ron looked ready to explode. Harry tugged on his sleeve, shaking his head. Clearly, he didn’t want trouble this morning. Ginny shifted in her seat. He wasn’t telling anyone. He wasn’t even _mentioning_ it. What if the Dursleys were in trouble and no one even knew? True, they were horrible people, from what she’d heard, but she still wouldn’t feel very happy if Voldemort murdered them.

  


  


“Is there…anything in the paper about me?” Draco asked quietly, eyeing the front page of the Daily Prophet with some trepidation.

  


  


Mr. Weasley glanced up. “No…no, there isn’t,” he muttered with some consternation. 

  


  


Suddenly, Albus Dumbledore’s head appeared in the kitchen fire, his eyes searching out Mr. Weasley. “Ah, Arthur, there you are,” he said. “And I see you’ve read the paper as well.”

  


  


“Not thoroughly,” Arthur replied, looking up in surprise. “Is there something in there that I should have seen?”

  


  


“Not exactly,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “It’s more that you probably anticipated seeing something—something which remains unseen.”

  


  


Now Arthur just looked puzzled. “You mean the press held back the announcement that the Malfoy family heir happens to be missing from his home?”

  


  


“No, Arthur. I mean that Lucius and Narcissa did not report Draco as missing—to the Ministry _or_ the press.”

  


  


“They didn’t report me missing?” Draco echoed in a hollow voice. “You’re _joking_.”

  


  


“Maybe they just feel well off to be rid of him,” Ron interjected cheerfully. “They probably don’t really _miss_ him, after all.”

  


  


Draco, who had been having thoughts along these same lines, turned an ugly face to the redhead. “Shut. Your. Mouth. You insolvent little church mouse.” he growled through gritted teeth. 

  


  


“Now, boys, lets not fight at the breakfast table,” Arthur began, but Ron had already leaned forward. 

  


  


He had both hands planted firmly on the tabletop, his eyes boring holes into Malfoy’s. “This is _my_ house, you condescending cretin, and you can’t just talk anyway you—”

  


  


“Boys! This is no way to behave in front of the Headmaster of your school!” Molly was yelling over them, which had no effect.

  


  


To Ginny, it seemed as if the Headmaster was staring right at her. “Harry had a nightmare about Voldemort last night,” she announced loudly, and the table went silent.

  


  


“ _Ginny!_ ” Harry burst out, looking angry.

  


  


“Is this true?” Dumbledore queried, turning blue laser beams on the youth.

  


  


Harry’s brow turned to thunder, and he opened his mouth and snapped it shut. “ _No_ ,” he finally announced sullenly. Ginny gaped. “I don’t know for sure that it was—it was one of _those_ dreams,” he said. “It could have just been a nightmare. Having Malfoy show up for the summer would be enough to give anyone nightmares.”

  


  


Ginny looked murderous. “It—you—it,” she stuttered incoherently. “He was clutching at his scar! Wasn’t he, Malfoy?”

  


  


“Yes,” Draco responded calmly, pushing his food around on his plate and scowling at it. “I had to wake him with a spell. He was writhing and moaning and yelling about a snake.”

  


  


“What was your dream about, Harry?” Albus asked gently, turning his attention back to the boy. 

  


  


“I don’t remember,” Harry said tightly. “Just something about a snake, and maybe my house, and my family. But even just after they _woke_ me, I hardly remembered anything. I don’t know if I really dreamed about _any_ of that!”

  


  


“You definitely dreamt about the snake,” Malfoy informed him. “Rottw—that is—Ginny and I heard you from out in the hall.”

  


  


“What were you doing up and wandering the house in the middle of the night?” Molly demanded of Ginny, who just barely kept from rolling her eyes. 

  


  


“Draco wanted something to eat, and—”

  


  


“What were you doing up with Draco Malfoy in the middle of the night?” her father interjected. “Never mind.” He glanced from Harry to Draco. “Albus, things have been a bit hectic around here,” he went on. “We had a bit of an incident last night before bed, and I’m afraid the kids are all a bit worked up over it. It could easily have given Harry nightmares.”

  


  


“ _Worked up?_ ” repeated Ginny, her voice wobbling a little, to her horror. “You think I’m _worked up_? Dad, I _heard_ Harry screaming about the snake! Are you saying that you don’t believe me?”

  


  


“Now, Firecracker, I’m just saying—”

  


  


“Don’t you ‘Firecracker’ me!” Ginny shouted. “I’m telling you that Harry really did—”

  


  


“Ginevra Weasley! Don’t you take that tone with your father!” Molly Weasley’s none-too-meek-at-the-best-of-times manner suddenly erupted into an outright bawling out. “You go to your room until I call you down to do your chores, and _don’t you give me that look_ , young lady!”

  


  


Ginny, still scowling, folded her napkin purposefully before rising and stalking her way to her room, trying to maintain what little dignity she had left. Sometimes her mother was a real terror. Ginny couldn’t believe her mum had dressed her down in front of everyone. _Including Draco Malfoy. Dear **God**_. And why, exactly, did that bother her _quite_ so much, anyway?


	5. Dark Lord's Little Helper, Chapter 5

**  
SUMMARY  
**  
: Draco and Ginny contemplate the term 'win' vs. 'lose.' They really are more interchangeable and confusing than you think.

  </o:p>

** DEDICATIONS ** : This chapter is dedicated to Yvette, God’s most beautiful new angel. May we meet again someday, my friend.

**Chapter Five: A Snake’s Tongue **

Draco Malfoy was weeding like he had never weeded before when Ginny was finally allowed out of her room to join him. Of course, he never _had_ weeded before, so this would pretty much have been true regardless of whether or not he actually pulled any weeds, but he felt he was doing rather well. Ron had made a couple of trips past him carrying boxes of junk, and Malfoy felt strongly that it would not do to let those freaks in the attic best him at…housework? Well, regardless, he was still a Malfoy, and Malfoys did not tolerate loss. 

He cheated and used his wand at every opportunity, of course, but this was well within Malfoy gardening guidelines, he was certain. Or would have been, if Malfoy’s deigned to garden. He gave himself a magical pair of clippers and chopped some of the weeds to tiny bits, imagining his mother’s flowerbed. _This is the daphne. Dangerous, deadly daphne. Chop, chop, daphne!_ Snick, snick, went the clippers. _And here’s the foxglove. Lovely hacked up foxglove._ The magical blades reduced the weed to tatters. _Ah, and some sweet narcissus… **HAVE SOME KNIFE, NARCISSUS!**_

Draco was so busy imagining the weeds as his mother’s flowers that he didn’t notice Ginny until she’d crept up behind him and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. _“Auuuugggggh!_ ” he screeched, jumping. He hit her with  Impedimenta, ducking and rolling at the same time. Wild eyed, he came to rest facing her, wand still at the ready. “Are you a sodding _imbecile_?” he demanded hotly. “Don’t you know that I’m Voldemort’s Most Wanted at the moment? I could have killed you before you’d had time to draw a breath!”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Yes, with you’re marvellously fatal impediment curse. Uber impressive, Malfoy. Look, I just wanted to apologize for sticking you with weeding the garden by yourself most of the morning. I should have kept my temper, but it’s difficult when Harry’s acting like the world’s biggest prat.” She tossed her head like a filly that wanted free of its reins, and her red ponytail swung gracefully.

Malfoy smirked. “Well, when _isn’t_ he? I’d expect you to be used to it by now. At any rate, you can tell me how the bloody hell we’re supposed to be able to rid the garden of these…damnable _pests_ without using any magic. They’re incredibly agile, they re-root themselves as soon as they’ve been dug up, and they _bite._ ”

“Not unlike yours truly, right?” Ginny replied archly, and Draco smiled broadly. Obviously, the girl had calmed down and gotten into a better mood. “Look, that whole ‘no using magic’ thing is clearly a farce, at least when it comes to stuff like this. _Technically_ , we’re supposed to drag them out behind the shed and pour Vanishing potion on them, put it usually takes several doses and _way_ too much effort. Like you said, they _bite._ So instead, what I usually do is _this_.” Pulling out her wand, Ginny checked round to make sure none of her family was looking out the windows at them. “ _Incendio_.” The small weed immediately dried out, shrivelled up, and crumbled to ash. She wiped her hand on her trousers. “There. Easy enough, right?” 

“Not bad… _Firecracker_ ,” Draco teased, and had to duck the bat-bogey hex she immediately shot at his head. “Why do you keep attempting to injure me?” he asked in a hurt tone. “One would think you’re developing an obsession.”

“Well, it’s the _only_ thing I’m obsessed with doing to you, I can promise you _that_ ,” Ginny retorted, yanking up another weed and setting it alight. 

Draco gave her a playful grin as he lit a weed of his own. “Oh, you’ll come around, I’m sure,” he said with confidence. “Trust me, they always do.” His smile continued in the face of her grimace, and they worked side by side in silence for some time. “Dumbledore believes you, you know,” he finally said.

Ginny looked up, eyes wide. “What? How do you know?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Because Trelawney had a vision, what do you think? He said so. He stayed a bit afterwards and talked with Harry and your father. Said he was going to post guards round Harry’s family, or something like that. Your father volunteered for a shift at it. And he’s going off to research black snakes, and see if he can’t find out what it all meant. See? All taken care of, _nothing_ to worry about.”

Ginny felt herself flushing. Badly. As badly as when she’d had that terrible crush on Harry. But why was she doing it _now_? Draco wasn’t teasing her. He wasn’t even patronizing her. If anything, he was being _reassuring._ He was trying to make it _better_ , and with _out_ being condescending. It was bizarre. And suspicious. And frightening. And…and _welcome_. Ginny didn’t know _anyone_ else that showed her that kind of consideration. The last person she’d ever expected to do so was Malfoy. Very, very weird. 

“Well. That’s good,” she said to the weed she was tugging at, keeping her head down. From the corner of her eye, she could see that Malfoy was motionless, staring at her, but he didn’t say anything. She knelt, still blushing, and incinerated her weed, then pulled another one. Any moment, she was sure there would be a thin, pale finger pointed at her, accusatory and revealing, and those grey eyes would be wide with laughter, and that smooth voice would say, “But you’re _blushing_ , rottweiler! And why exactly is that? I’ll bet I could guess…”

Draco wordlessly yanked out his own weed, torching it with aptitude. He did another, and another, and they worked the morning away. Ginny was braced with tension, but Draco never said a single thing about it. Definitely weird.

************************************************************************

After a couple of hours, Ginny was tiring, and Draco was obviously bored with the task. “This is so _mind-numbing_ ,” he whined. “What on earth do you do around here when you want a little bit of intellectual stimulation?”

Ginny shrugged. “Well, _I_ generally hide out behind the shed with a couple of books, or write to one of my friends, or hold long, drawn out conversations with myself about how to turn lead into gold. I’ve tried debating some of the others, but that’s rarely a good idea. The last time I tried it was when I was eight. Ron just rolled his eyes, Charlie patted me on the head, and Fred and George turned Mum’s gold necklace into a great puddle of lead goo and put it in one of my shoes. Bill was always nice to talk to, and Dad listens, but only if he’s got time—which is _never_ , and if you tell Mum you’re bored, she’ll have you cleaning the gutters for the next week and a half. Boredom is not on in the Weasley household. Sorry about that.”

Draco glanced up as Ron made another trip outside. “You’re not using _magic,_ are you Ginny?” he demanded as he passed by. “You know that’s not allowed. Mum’ll kill you.”

“No,” Ginny denied hastily. “We’re taking them out behind the shed just like we’re supposed to. Right, Draco?”

“Er…of course,” he said, slyly tucking his wand away. He rose with the weed he was currently holding and moved fluidly towards the shed, only to feel something wrap itself tightly round his ankle. “Gah!” he yelled, pitching forwards and ripping the material of his robes on one knee as he skidded in the dirt. 

When he stood, bruised and discomfited, he attempted to regain his dignity by remaining ultra casual as he brushed the dust from his robes. Ron was doubled over in laughter, and even Ginny was giggling a bit. “That was really slick, Malfoy,” Ron told him. “What do you do when people ask for an encore?”

“I usually slice them into thin strips and feed them to my poisonous toad,” he replied peevishly. “And it wasn’t _my_ fault. I’m always exceptionally agile—it’s practically my _trademark_. Brilliant smile, perfect hair, and marvellous, undeniable suaveness.”

“Well, I always thought you had more of an absolutely annoying smirk, overly-slicked hair, and…you’ve just proven what a complete oaf you are,” Ron told him.

Draco scowled. “Yuk it up, Weasel,” he growled. “Stupid, _stupid_ creeping ambush! I’m _never_ clumsy. I’m the most wonderfully graceful male in our school.”

“Bollocks,” Ron replied easily. “What about that time in Potions last year when you had to give a report in front of the class, and you tripped over your words, poured way too many nectarine pits into your Essence of Elegance, then bumped into your cauldron and spilled the lot on the floor?”

“That was Not. My. Fault.” Draco said hotly. “You can blame Pansy Parkinson for that, because she’d used _flagrate_ on her _tongue,_ where she’d written, “ _MARRY ME, DRACO,”_ and kept showing it to me when the professor turned his back. You’d have been a little unsettled by that as well, I can assure you!”

“Ri—iiiiight,” Ron told him. “You always have to blame someone else, don’t you? Admit, cake eater, you were just nervous about your speech and it made you inept—more inept than you usually are, that is. I mean, come on! Even _Snape_ noticed; he looked like he just might take points off you.”

“Snape would _never_ do that,” Malfoy replied haughtily. “Snape _adores_ me. He thinks I’m the best student that ever came through his house—after him. And Father, perhaps, and—” Draco shut his mouth, swallowing hard. _After Voldemort, who we all know was the ‘greatest’ Slytherin. And did Snape really think I was any good at all, or was he just sucking up to Father and the Dark Lord? I know Snape must be a Death Eater. Should I tell someone? Would it go worse for me if I did? And…I don’t really want to snitch on Professor Snape—the man’s had it hard enough, and he’s…he’s_ nice _to me. Even when I don’t much deserve it, he usually tries to give some sort of encouragement or advice. Which is more than Father’s ever done._

Ron didn’t even notice Draco’s distress—and unless you knew him pretty well, it probably wasn’t all that obvious. But Ginny saw the thoughts behind Draco’s eyes as plain as day. _He’s worried. He thinks Snape is still one of them._ She felt a swelling inclination to tell him the truth, but clamped down on it firmly. After all, what if Draco _wasn’t_ on their side? He’d be in the perfect position to get their only spy killed. In fact, that might be the very reason he was there—to infiltrate the people around Harry and find out why Dumbledore seemed one step ahead, at least most of the time.

“Uh-huh. Snape just _loooooves_ you, I’m sure. _Now_ I know why you’re his favorite.” Ron jumped aside as Draco shot  _ Furnunculus  _ at him. “Malfoy, you’re _not allowed_ to use magic,” he admonished.  Ron left, simmering over the curse sent at his head. “And Ginny, if I see _you_ using magic again either, I’ll tell Mum and then you’ll catch it.”

Now it was Ginny’s turn to scowl, although in the interest of retaining her own dignity, she refrained from hexing him as soon as his back was turned. “We’d better at least take the rest out behind the shed before we burn them,” she advised. “If Mum does see us, we _will_ catch it—and I wouldn’t put it past Ron to tell her. He’d do it just to get you in trouble.” 

As if on cue, Mrs. Weasley’s voice hollered from the doorway. “Ginny Weasley, if you’re using your magic outside of school, you’re going to be in big trouble.”

“I’m _not_ , Mum!” she protested angrily. She lowered her voice and turned to Malfoy. “I _knew_ he would tattle. He might as well be five years old.” She started walking over to the shed, but stopped when she realized Draco wasn’t following. She turned to find he was eyeing her speculatively. “What?”

“Come on, let’s go inside,” he suggested, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the house. 

“What? Wait! We haven’t even finished weeding yet. Malfoy! Where are you taking me?” Ginny groaned as he pushed her up the steps.

“What are the two of you doing back inside?” Molly asked suspiciously, but she was bowled over by one of Malfoy’s sunniest smiles. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Mrs. Weasley,” he said with what seemed like heartfelt sincerity. “I just got…a splinter! Yes, a bit of a splinter, and I’m afraid I can’t see it well enough to get it out. No, no, I’m fine—I just asked Ginny to show me to the loo and maybe help me get it out.”

“Well, let me know if you need any help,” Molly returned. “And I’ll expect the two of you to get right back to work when you’ve finished.”

“Absolutely, Mrs. Weasley,” Draco assured her, still beaming as he steered Ginny towards the stairs. “It won’t take a minute, I’m sure. And weeding your garden is the _least_ I could do after all you’ve done for me.”

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we?” Ginny asked out the side of her mouth.

“But she’s just eating it up,” Draco responded. It was true. Molly Weasley was smiling slightly to herself, humming vaguely as she went back to stirring the stew she was making for supper. 

“She does seem to like those blonds,” Ginny said under her breath. Then she added more loudly, “Malfoy, what the hell are you _doing_ , anyway?”

“We’re going to get back at your brother,” Malfoy informed her. 

“What? How? Malfoy…I don’t think this is a great idea.”

“Come _on_. Stop being such a—a _goody two shoes._ It’ll be fun, and no one’ll get hurt. I promise. It’ll be great!” She finally relented, and followed him to the top of the attic stairs, crouching on his right in the hallway where they could hear Ron’s and Harry’s muffled voices above them. Draco leaned forward until he was on his stomach, poking the tip of his wand across the doorway. “ _Aracnulus,_ ” he hissed. 

Ginny cautiously peeped above the steps a moment before sinking back down. She scooted closer to Draco so she could whisper in his ear, trying to ignore that he smelled of mint and faintly of some kind of men’s scent—aftershave or expensive cologne or something. It was subtle enough that she hardly noticed consciously, and classy enough to make her think of silk and diamonds and other pricey things, and she couldn’t help lumping Draco in with them. An odd little flutter rose in her chest, and she shivered a little. Draco looked questioningly at her, and she swallowed. “What did you do?” she whispered. “It doesn’t seem like it’s having any effect.”

Draco put a hand on her arm and leaned across to whisper in her right ear, “Patience, my pet. True works of genius take _time_ ; you can’t simply drop an anvil on their heads. It lacks subtlety.”

Ginny could feel his warm breath on her neck, and she shivered again. She opened her mouth to speak, but found her mouth suddenly much too dry. 

Draco pulled back a little to look at her. “Are you cold? Should’ve worn your cardigan again.”

_ He noticed my sweater? But boys don’t ever notice things like that. And I cleaned the dishes for three weeks and did Ron’s chores, too, just to work up enough money to afford the one I liked. **Ron** never noticed. **Harry** never noticed.  _ Ginny felt a decidedly wild desire to laugh, and fought it because she knew it’d be loud if she did, and she wouldn’t be able to stop. “I—guess I am a little cold,” she said, in lieu of admitting, ‘Well, really, I think it’s because you smell quite nice and you have a great voice, and would you mind just running those elegant fingers through my hair a bit?’ _That_ would go over very well, no doubt. 

“Here, give me your hands,” Draco commanded, and she let him take them, turn them over gently, and cast a warming spell over them. He held them cradled in his own, whispering, “All better?” All of which merely caused her to shudder again. He laughed softly. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Guess I’m a bit out of practice on my warming charms. Odd, really; I’ve always used them at home, I’m usually quite good at them. Well, never mind. Here, I’ll just…” he tugged her forward, sliding an arm around her shoulders, pulling Ginny into the warmth of his embrace. 

Ginny’s eyes widened as she felt Draco’s hand slide up the nape of her neck. “Shouldn’t wear your hair up if your cold,” he advised. “You’ll be warmer with it down.” He tugged on the ribbon holding it back, and it tumbled down around her ears and shoulders. As he drew his hand back, Malfoy’s thumb lightly grazed her cheekbone, and Ginny could feel the heat beginning to rise in her face. 

Draco meant to smile and be reassuring, but he suddenly found he was having difficulty forming words. Here he’d thought this was the perfect set-up to seduce Weasley’s sister into a compromising situation, and…it either wasn’t turning out that way, or it was working _far_ too well. As he watched the red waves cascade free of their bind, the world seemed to stop moving, just for a moment. _Like some kind of golden, liquid fire,_ he thought, in awe.

Then she looked up at him with wide, innocent brown eyes, so exactly like those of a doe, that he was absolutely lost. _Damnable witch turned the tables on me!_ he mused, letting his thumb brush against her skin as he drew his hand back. He wasn’t sure which one of them took the lead, but they both seemed to lean forward at the same time, and suddenly their lips were touching. Ginny’s hand came up and wound fingers in his hair, and Death Eaters and Potter and Voldemort abruptly seemed far less pressing than they’d ever done, and Draco lost himself in Ginny’s mouth. Somewhere, Draco’s inner Slytherin screamed at him. _My hair! My beautiful hair! She’s mussing it! **Belt up** , _he ordered it. _But you’re doing **exactly** the wrong thing, _it moaned. _She **bites** , you know! **Could be fun under the right circumstances,**_ he retorted, and gave up his inner dialogue to concentrate on enjoying himself. 

Both arms were wrapped firmly round her thin frame, and Ginny was pressing him back, until he was against the wall, and she was half leaning, half laying on him, one of her hands still winding and tugging at his hair, and the other digging nails into his shoulder. **_She scratches a bit, too,_** he pointed out to his inner Slytherin with no small amount of glee.

Ron’s muffled scream came from the attic, and it was joined by the sound of thumps and scuffling steps as boxes were tossed around and Weasley tried to escape. Draco pulled away from Ginny’s lovely lips long enough to remark, “Oh, good. I see your brother’s noticed my spider. I did tell you that patience would reap great rewards.” He liked the way her lips curled up at the corners at this, and took her chin to kiss her again. 

_ …“Kill it, Harry, kill it! _ ” Ron’s frightened yells passed by, almost unnoticed. “ _ It’s—coming this way! Harry! AUUUGHH!”  _

_ “Calm **down,** Ron,”  _ Harry’s voice ordered, frustrated.  _ “You know, I don’t reckon that’s a **normal** spider at all. You see the way it’s glowing? And kind of pale? Do you typically get that kind of spider round here?” _

__

_ “Harry! I don’t care if it’s an albino holocaust spider from Madagascar! Just kill it, would you? AUGH! It’s trying to get me! KILL IT!” _

__

_ “Wait a second,” Harry said suspiciously. “That’s not a spider, that’s a **spell. Finite Incantatum**!” He yelled, and Ron let out a huge sigh of relief. _

__

_ “I’m going downstairs to tell Mum. I don’t know where it came from and I don’t care, but if there’s stuff in this attic that causes magical albino spiders, I’m not…— _ OH MY GOD! GINNY!What the—?  _ MALFOY!  _ What are you DOING to my kid sister?!”

Draco pulled away, usually colourless cheeks flushed with warmth, lips looking pink and entirely too well-kissed. He gave Ron a lazy smile. Draco opened his mouth to say, ‘You remember that talk Madam Pomfrey gave us all back in third year about where babies come from?’ but stopped when Ginny’s hand clapped over his mouth. 

“ _Don’t_ ,” she advised him. Whipping out her wand, Ginny levelled it at Ron’s head and announced firmly, “ _Obliviate._ ” 

The spell clearly wasn’t strong, and Draco wasn’t certain it was going to work at all. Ron blinked, clearly confused. “What’s…going…on? What happened to the spider?”

Harry appeared in the doorway. “What happened? Ginny, are you all right?” he gave Malfoy a hard look, and barely glanced at Ron. He tumbled down the steps to them, looking back and forth between Ginny and Malfoy. “What’s wrong? What was Ron yelling about?” 

Ron still looked puzzled, so Ginny piped up quickly. “Draco and I were having a fight. I was winning, but then Ron had to come and big brother me, so he pretty much spoiled the whole thing. Everything’s okay, though.”

Harry gazed at them suspiciously. “Huh. Well…I know you did that spider, Malfoy. It wasn’t funny.”

“It _was_ , though,” Malfoy contended shamelessly. “The Weasel had been very rude to me, and I thought it my duty to teach him that _good_ hosts do not insult their guests. Plus, he went and whined to his mother, which is so pathetic that it is beneath even me. Now…if you’ll excuse us, Ginny and I have weeds to deal with. Ta.”

Harry scowled at them, but dragged an increasingly annoyed looking Ron up the stairs after him. “Yeah, he’s a jerk. Tell me something I don’t know. Come on; let’s get back to work. We’re almost finished.”

Ginny followed Draco as he practically skipped almost merrily down the stairs, pausing only long enough to pop his head into the kitchen and inform her mother that the splinter was _all gone,_ and was she doing something different with her hair, because it sure looked lovely! Then he gave her a brilliant smile and tugged Ginny outside, where he suddenly turned on her.

“What was that about?” he demanded in a cold voice. 

Ginny swallowed. There were really only two possibilities here; either he was scornful of her hypocrisy in casting a spell like _obliviate_ on her own brother when she was supposed to be ‘good,’ or he was disturbed by her lack of restraint when she’d practically jumped him in the hallway. In either case, she understood that this particular confrontation would not be a pleasant one. Bracing herself, she said, “What?”

“You were _winning?_ ” he said indignantly. “Really, rottweiler, _winning_? Because that implies that I was losing—and I wasn’t. That’s important to keep in mind, as it wouldn’t reflect well on either one of us, otherwise. I am a Malfoy. Malfoys do not lose.”

“Really?” Ginny raised a brow. “Because now that you’re on _our_ side, and your father is still on _You Know Who’s_ side, it seems to me that _one_ of you will eventually _have_ to lose. It just kind of stands to reason, you know?”

Draco seemed to sober. “Well, yes, but you never know. There might be a draw. Or! My father could come around. It could happen,” he insisted, in the face of her dubious look. “Whatever else my father is, he is _not_ a fool. Surely he’ll ultimately come to the same conclusion that I did, and realize he’s backed the losing horse. In which case I shall be gracious and only force him to grovel for several weeks to get back into my good graces. Ordinarily, there would be flogging and public humiliation as well, but one ought to make allowances for one’s father, I suppose.”

Ginny, not fooled by Draco’s forced, flippant manner, laid a hand on his arm. “Draco…” she murmured, unsure what to say. 

He shrugged it off, his chin held high. “You really cast _obliviate_ on your own brother, hmm?”

Ginny’s ears burned. “I was careful. I moderated the amount of magic being cast, and I only took off a couple of minutes,” she said defensively. 

“Well done, in any case,” he responded approvingly. “I always knew you had a bit of bastard underneath it all. I’ll make a passable Slytherin of you yet, mark my words.” Ginny shook her head, but let him continue. “You’ll need a Slytherin to defeat him, you know. When you’re fighting a monster, goodness and nobility will only take you so far. Takes a snake to catch a snake.” He wiggled his tongue at her, and Ginny blushed brightly and turned her head.

“Speaking of snakes,” she quickly changed the subject, bending down and plucking a weed. “Have you had any thoughts on Harry’s dream? Because I’m really worried about it.”

Draco began weeding as well. “Nothing useful,” he admitted, and then fell silent for several moments. “Do you think you could winkle some information out of your father this evening?” At Ginny’s nod, he smiled grimly. “That’s good, because I’m rather worried, as well.”


	6. Dark Lord's Little Helper, Chapter Six

** RATING ** : PG-13

** PAIRING ** : Draco/Ginny

** DISCLAIMER ** : Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc. 

** BETAS ** : Gemsbok, ShadowPhoenix

** SUMMARY ** : Ginny takes the initiative to find out what’s going on, and Draco sulks.

** DEDICATIONS ** : This whole story was written for Nori. So bugger the rest of you, then.

** The Plot Thickens, or at Least Congeals **

“I can’t believe I’m being held prisoner this way!” Draco fumed. “It’s insulting. I’ve been a model visitor in this home. I’ve weeded the garden, done the dishes, been up before the crack of dawn—which is a fate no man should suffer, by the way—and been helpful and accommodating every step of the way, and this is how you repay me?”

“Oh, stop whinging about it already,” Ginny retorted, flipping her hair out of her face. “It’s only for a couple of hours. And if you want to prove you’re trustworthy, you ought to be happy with this chance. All you have to do is plant your arse in a chair, and boom, you’ve proven that you’re not here to spy on us.”

Draco looked appalled at this. “I don’t want to prove that I’m trustworthy! That would do unimaginable damage to my reputation as a Malfoy. I want to prove that I’m necessary, yes, and clever, and astoundingly sexy, but never trustworthy. If you’re trustworthy, people tell you to do things and expect you to actually _do_ them.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Well, yes…I suppose they do at that. Look, I’m not any happier about this than you are. That whole premise about ‘keeping an eye on Malfoy’ whenever they want to keep me out of the way is beginning to wear rather thin.”

“Then why do it? Let’s just sneak downstairs and find out what’s going on. They shouldn’t be allowed to treat us as though we are irrelevant! Come on now, where’s your sense of adventure?” Draco wheedled, giving her a pleading look. 

Ginny shifted uncomfortably. The reason she was upstairs making sure Malfoy didn’t leave his room was that Snape and some of the other Order members were at the Burrow for a quick meeting, and she didn’t want Malfoy to know. After all, he said himself that he didn’t want to be considered trustworthy. And as little as she liked Snape, she didn’t want Draco getting him killed. “Draco…”

He studied her carefully. “What’s up?” His eyes were shrewd as he watched Ginny rise from her chair and begin pacing. 

“I don’t…” She swallowed. “I don’t want you to go downstairs while they’re meeting.”

“You don’t trust me, either.” A flat stare. A flat voice.

“There’s a lot at stake, is all.” Ginny didn’t meet his eyes. This was harder than she thought it would be. It was easy to stand up to Harry these days, and he usually needed someone to stand up to him. She was finding it harder to stand up to Draco…but then, that probably had something to do with having kissed him.

“Yes…there is a lot at stake. There’s _Potter_ , for one thing,” Draco responded in a bitter voice, and Ginny looked up, questioning.

“Well, yeah. Among the other important things, like our way of life, the world as we know it, and so on and so forth. Are you all right, Draco?”

“I’m just dandy,” he replied coldly.

Ginny stared at him for a long moment. What was his problem, anyway? Shrugging slightly, she said, “How about I go downstairs and try to find out what’s going on? I’ll come back when I know a bit more, and tell you whatever I think would be safe enough for you to know. I know you don’t like it, but…you have to prove yourself, if you want to be seen as one of the good guys.”

Draco gave her a hard look. “Oh, boy. So before I get my ‘do-gooder’ pass, I have to yank a sword out of a stone, fight a basilisk with it, maybe stop some weirdo from coming back from the dead…is _that_ what you want? And is that more or less your list of qualifying traits for a boyfriend, as well?I can picture your personal ad: Must enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and repeatedly defeating the myriad forces of evil. Fine, go downstairs if you like. I don’t care. I’ll just sit up here and wait for Voldemort to come and Crucio me.”

Ginny gritted her teeth. “Stop _sulking_. You can be really childish, you know that? Don’t be angry, I’m only going down there because you keep moaning about it. And…I trust you enough to leave you here alone. That’s something, isn’t it?”

Draco gave a half-hearted sigh. “Yes, we’ve definitely reached new heights of confidence when you can leave me alone in my room for five minutes.”

Ginny frowned, then slipped out into the hall, trying hard to make certain she wasn’t stomping, and carefully not slamming the door behind her. What was his bloody _problem?_ Things had been rather awkward since the kiss—which they hadn’t mentioned since. What would be the point? It would ever work out. She was a spunky redhead, a girl next-door sort of thing, and he came from a long line of rich psychopaths. 

Creeping carefully down the stairs, she slipped out an extendable ear and tossed it at the kitchen door. No good—it bounced right off. Right. Well then. She’d just have to get a bit creative about it, wouldn’t she? She toed off her shoes and sidled down the hall, cautiously opening the front door, and began silently working her way round to the kitchen window. When she was right beneath it, she swung the twins’ creation up and over, and felt it fall snugly into the flowerpot on the sill. 

“Well, we’ve had people there for days, and there hasn’t been a single thing out of the ordinary,” her father was saying. “It does seem to me that either he’s given up on that location, or he found out that Harry wasn’t there anyway.”

“ _If_ the entire thing wasn’t fabricated by those hooligans you call your progeny,” Snape’s frosty voice noted.

“We weren’t making it up,” Ron said quietly. “Harry really was saying stuff like that in his sleep.”

“Who cares what he thinks, Ron?” Harry grated, sounding prickly as ever these days. 

“ _And_ if Mister Potter wasn’t simply making the whole thing up in order to get some extra attention,” the Potions Master responded.

There was a rather long pause.

“I really hate you,” she heard Harry say finally.

“Harry, that’s enough,” Molly broke in, around the same time as Snape’s reply, which sounded something like, ‘I assure you, the feeling is mutual.’

Dumbledore finally spoke out at this point, after gently clearing his throat. “Well, despite that there have been no attacks on Harry’s family, I cannot in good conscience relieve the guards we’ve set there. It would be foolish to remove them now, if Voldemort were simply awaiting the time when we decide it’s safe enough left alone, before attacking the house.”

“Has there been any progress in finding out what any of the rest might have meant?” Hermione’s voice. She’d only arrived this morning, as she’d be travelling with them to King’s Cross. “I mean, I could look into—”

“Thank you, Hermione, but that’s my job at the moment,” Remus Lupin replied firmly. “I don’t want you kids getting involved in this one. You’ve been allowed the information we have, and that’s simply going to have to suffice. I don’t want you doing anything else, is that clear?” he asked, with a note of anxiety in his hoarse voice.

“Fine with me,” Harry said sulkily. “I think you’re all overreacting, anyhow.”

Someone sighed. “I know you think that, Harry, but it’s important to me that you’re kept safe,” the werewolf said kindly. “And unfortunately, I haven’t found any information on black snakes that would seem to correspond with our situation. It’s a pity, but I’ll continue to look into it.”

Snape gave a growl of disgust. “What a waste of time! Of all the things we might be accomplishing right now, we—”

“That is enough, Severus,” the Headmaster cut him off. 

“Have you gotten anywhere in…obtaining the thing you said we might need?” Ginny’s father asked, distracting them.

“Unfortunately, the Ministry is averse to allowing us to use one, even in this situation. The fact that I wished to entrust it to Severus was a bit of a sticking point, as well. Try as I might, I could not convince Cornelius that Severus is not a threat—he insists that it would be folly to allow a former Death Eater to wield such an instrument. He does not trust Severus.”

“First smart thing the Minister’s probably ever done,” Harry muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear. 

“You’re smugness is remarkable, considering your situation,” Snape replied with ire. “What conceit you must have, to sit here casting aspersions on me, not a year after having gotten your own godfather killed!”

“ _You_ were the one that killed him!” Harry yelled. “ _You’re_ the one who couldn’t make one damned move to show me you understood what I was talking about! It’s _your_ fault, and I—”

“That is enough,” Dumbledore said in a tired voice, and Harry broke off into an irritated muttering. 

“So what shall we do, if that fool from the Ministry will not entrust it to us? I cannot see Potter staying out of trouble long enough that we do not have a use for it.” Ginny could hear the sneer in the man’s voice.

“They did eventually agree to lend us the use of one,” Dumbledore replied, “But they would not allow me to put it in your care.”

“Who would Fudge approve of, then?” Remus asked, consternated. “Certainly he wouldn’t trust me, since I’m a known lycanthrope, and he’s still angry with Arthur for going over his head.”

“The only person we could agree upon was Minerva, so she will be the keeper of the object,” the Headmaster informed them. 

“You know, I don’t know why you bother! You all sit around talking and talking and playing like you’re including us, but you don’t tell us anything!” Harry suddenly burst out. “It was just one stupid little dream, anyhow.” The screech of a chair being abruptly pushed back, followed by several pairs of feet, and then the slam of a door. 

“Well, that’s a quota of adolescent drama filled, then,” Snape said sourly.

“He’s going through a lot right now,” Remus’ voice replied tactfully, and no one mentioned that Snape seemed to enjoy antagonizing Harry as much as Harry enjoyed blowing up in response. _Really,_ Ginny thought, _He’s just as childish as Harry is. I wonder if boys **ever** grow up? _

“That’s no excuse for making up nonsense which keeps us from doing more important things,” Snape snapped. “We are at _war,_ Lupin. Try not to forget that. And I dislike wasting my time trailing about after some figment of a teenager’s imagination!”

“Ah, but Draco claimed he heard Harry say the same. And I do believe you said Draco, at least, had ‘potential?’” Dumbledore politely suggested.

“Well. I said he had the potential to be an utterly terrifying Death Eater,” Snape replied. “I’m not entirely certain he’ll be a very useful _ally_ , though. And at any rate, he only heard what Potter said. I’m still not convinced Potter isn’t making it all up.”

“Harry does seem…extraordinarily out of sorts, lately,” Arthur commented, almost apologetically. “He’s going through that rather rebellious phase. He even snapped at me when I asked him to take out the trash this morning.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s _lying_ ,” Lupin pointed out in a sharp voice.

“No, but we’re not certain there’s even anything _to_ the dream, even if he _had_ one,” Snape jumped in.

“That’s true,” Ginny’s mum said, sounding a bit fretful. “I hate to think of the poor boy having nightmares from _him_ , but in any case, what he’s gone through is more than enough to give any boy nightmares. I wish we _knew_ if it was one of _those_ dreams. I believe Harry is telling the truth, though.”

“As do I,” the Headmaster acknowledged. “And it seems likely that it was a dream of Voldemort. However, Severus makes a very good point; we cannot continue to spend all our time on this particular threat. There are many other plans afoot, and I must say that I believe Remus could be better used elsewhere. At the same time, I do not believe we should reduce surveillance of Privet Drive. Harry’s family may be in grave danger, from which they cannot defend themselves.”

“I think you are correct to remove Lupin from that ludicrous research,” the Potions Master remarked. “On the other hand, he’ll likely be equally useless elsewhere, so—”

“Really, Severus,” Ginny heard her mother respond in an aggravated tone. “Would you _please_ try to behave like an adult? We have enough other worries without the two of you starting in on each other.”

“It’s all right, Molly,” Remus said in a mild voice. “How long do I have to finish my research, Albus?”

“I shouldn’t give it more than a week,” Dumbledore replied. “You are needed elsewhere.”

“Very well, then. I’ll—”

“Spying, are we?” a voice asked, and Ginny jumped to her feet in fright. Harry was standing behind her, still looking angry. “If one of _them_ had a nightmare, who would you be able to tattle to?”

“I didn’t tattle!” she whispered angrily at him. “I was _looking out for you_ , because you’re my _friend_. And you’re acting like a complete arse, and I don’t deserve it. So if you want to be rude to someone, then go somewhere else, because I’m not going to stand for it.”

Suddenly, Harry seemed to deflate, and looked very tired. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry; I know you were doing what you thought was right. I just…hate having all of this out of my control. I don’t mean to snap at you, but I’d appreciate a little privacy, you know?”

Ginny nodded, feeling a bit sorry for him. “Where are Ron and Hermione?”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Ran them off with my bad temper.”

She snorted. “Figures. You’re just a regular bucket of cheer these days, aren’t you?”

Flushing, Harry had the grace to look embarrassed, but still noted, “Well, you would be too, if you were me.”

“I know,” she admitted. “You…look kind of tired. Are you all right?” Ginny bit her lip, worried that he would think she was prying.

He shrugged and looked away, and she could see the circles under his eyes. “Well…yeah. I guess I haven’t been sleeping very well. I don’t want to have another one of _those dreams_ , you know?”

She tilted her head, considering. “You should really go back and take some more lessons with Snape,” she said. “Hermione said it was a really smart idea, and—”

“Look, I _don’t_ need another lecture, and I _don’t_ need another Hermione around!” he grated, his temper flaring again. After a moment, he shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. “Sorry,” he said shortly. “I’m going…I’m going to find Ron and Hermione. I should probably apologize to them, too.”

“Yeah, you probably should,” Ginny agreed, unable to keep from speaking her mind.

He smiled again, small and pale, but real. “Right. And…thanks, Ginny. For being honest with me when no one else will.”

She watched him walk back around the front of the house, lost in her thoughts. Poor Harry. He’d had it hard enough already, and things never seemed to get any easier. And now, Lupin was going to give up his research. That wasn’t good. And it was especially strange that her first thought about it was that she really wanted to tell Draco. 


	7. Dark Lord's Little Helper, Chapter Seven

** RATING ** : PG-13

** PAIRING ** : Draco/Ginny

** DISCLAIMER ** : Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc. 

** BETAS ** : Gemsbok, ShadowPhoenix

** SUMMARY ** : Draco and Ginny head back to Hogwarts, where they will have to work hard if they want to continue to see each other. Meanwhile, others are working hard to make sure neither Draco nor Harry survive the school year.

** **

** DEDICATIONS:  ** For Nori, as always. May you be surrounded by rich, snooty men that fuss too much with their hair and insist they’re always right.

** Back to the Chalkboard **

****

Draco Malfoy approached platform 9 ¾ with head hanging, dragging his feet like a man condemned. So this is what it all came down to. He’d left his family, deserted his cause, absconded to the side of the light, and lost everything. It was…well, the old Draco would have said something like _tragic_ or _unconscionable,_ but this Draco was simply too tired and too beat down to be so theatrical about it. 

Molly Weasley ruffled his much-abused hair, and Arthur shook his hand, his face somewhat less full of disgust than on the first night they’d gone to the Burrow. Then, Draco turned and joined his—his comrades? Acquaintances?—the others; Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione on the platform.

And this, he was sure, was where it would all end. The Gryffindors would abandon him to the wolves—or the snakes, which were even more frightening. He wouldn’t have admitted it for his own line of hairstyling products, but he had a squadron of prop fighter butterflies zooming round in his stomach. He was not looking forward to seeing Crabbe and Goyle—or any of the other Slytherins, for that matter. He was even more worried about that evening, when he’d be alone in the dark with them, trapped in the bowels of Hogwarts. Previously, he’d thought it was splendid that he resided where no one could hear you scream. Now, he was beginning to have a few minor misgivings about that.

Potty, Weasel and Mudblood all hopped happily on the train, smiling and chatting inanely, not even bothering with a glance in his direction. Actually, he rather thought that Granger had shot him a worried look, but Ron pulled her away, distracting her with comments about keeping the rest of the train in line. Squaring his shoulders and raising his chin, Draco prepared to board as well. Never let it be said that Draco Malfoy didn’t meet his fate with courage and noble poise.

“Draco, wait up!” he heard Ginny say exasperatedly, and turned in surprise. It wasn’t exactly that he’d _forgotten_ the girl; he was just assuming that she’d forgotten _him_. She was on the ground, re-lacing an old and rather ratty shoe. 

“Dear lord, you mustn’t draw attention to those things,” he reprimanded her. “They’re ghastly. Until we can get you more appropriate footwear, do try to hide those under your robes, would you?” He made a show of looking around and smoothing his wayward, yet still gorgeous hair. “You’re _embarrassing_ me.”

True to form, Ginny merely rolled her eyes. “Merlin, Malfoy. Yeah, I can only imagine the tremendous shame and mental anguish my boots are causing you. Will you just shut up? We haven’t even made it onto the train, and already you’ve given me a headache.”

Striking a pose and giving her a smile filled with chivalry, Draco offered her a hand up, and she accepted, laughing a little wryly. “You never take me seriously,” he commented. “And think of all that’s been ruined by one glimpse of your dilapidated shoes; no longer shall I be able to realize my dreams of obtaining aesthetic glory, as my eyes have been damned by your revolting choice—”

“Draco,” Ginny said in a warning tone. He arched a brow, thinking it was all part of the game, but then he saw her expression. “Here come your former lackeys.”

“Well, well…look what we have here,” someone behind him said. “Malfoy’s got himself a _girlfriend._ ”

“Ah. From that astoundingly cliché line, I must assume my childhood chums have arrived.” He swivelled on his heel, keeping his face impassive and his tone bored. “How spanking lovely to see you again.”

Both Crabbe and Goyle stood there, shoulder against shoulder, expressions menacing. “What does he mean, ‘lovely?’” Goyle asked suspiciously. “I thought he was supposed to be scared?”

Crabbe thought this over a moment, before his eyebrow lowered threateningly. “He _is_ scared; aren’t you, Draco? He was never as strong as us, so he’s definitely scared.” Crabbe was always the quicker of the two, but not by much.

Draco cocked his head and smiled disarmingly, making certain they didn’t notice the fact that he was insinuating himself between Ginny and the goons. “I assure you gentlemen that I’m not frightened of you,” he began, but Crabbe went on with his speech, which he’d obviously practiced. 

In a stilted voice, with his eyes squinting a bit, he repeated, clearly by rote, “We heard where you was switching to the wrong side,” he said.

“Were,” Draco corrected automatically.

After a second or two, Crabbe’s eyes focused on him. “What?”

“‘You _were_ switching to the wrong side,’ you big lummox. _Were,_ not _was_. Continue with your travesty of a warning, if you would.”

It took a bit for Crabbe to stop staring at him; Goyle had to nudge his partner and mutter about their mission, but finally he continued. “Oh. Oh. Er… We heard where you was—”

“Were.”

“Ah…yeah…were switching to the wrong side. And the Dark Lord doesn’t like that. He is not happy with you. You had better c-consider your…position carefully. Because after what you done, you are going to be in big trouble, and—ah—um—and…oh, yeah! And I would watch my back, if I were you, you…um. Ah. Goyle? What was that last bit again?”

“Huh? Oh…you…dirty…little…tailor,” Goyle said, after several moments of tense concentration. They both broke out into wide grins, pleased with the completion of their assignment.

“Traitor, I think you’ll find,” Draco offered in an unimpressed voice.

“Eh?”

“You dirty little _traitor_ , not ‘tailor,’ although it’s nearly as insulting. I should certainly hope I’d never have to stoop to that sort of labour merely to continue my existence. Oh, and also, you messed up your tenses again. You _should_ have said, ‘after what you _have_ done,’ or ‘after what you _did_ ,’ because—”

“Malfoy, that’s enough,” Ginny hissed in his ear. “Stop giving them grammar lessons and let’s get on the train!”

“Hmm? Oh, very well. Well, boys, you did a bang up job, considering what little you had to work with. You may tell your employer that I was utterly terrified by your predictions of horrible doom, and that I shall commence trembling in fright and reassessing my loyalties at once. Or as soon as I have a spare moment, at any rate. Was that all? Good, then. Have a nice day.”

Crabbe and Goyle gave each other a confused look as Draco shoved Ginny towards the train, trying to rush her and still keep his dignity. She shot him a look over her shoulder when she realized what he was doing, but kept moving. “Uh…that went well,” they could hear Crabbe saying, not sounding completely convinced.

“He didn’t seem that scared to _me_ ,” Goyle responded.

“Well…yeah…but he _said_ he was really scared,” Crabbe replied in a voice laden with inspiration. “And that’s all we have to tell them, isn’t it? ‘He said he was scared.’”

“But he didn’t say that. Um. He said he was utterly terrified, but he didn’t _sound_ utterly terrified.”

“Who cares how he sounded? He said he was…utterly terrified of our predilections of doom, and…um…he would…comment on our tremors of fright…no, wait. He said he was terrified of our perfection, trembles are commerce…immediately, and…er…he will reassure his loyalties. And go spare. Or something. Wasn’t that what he said?”

Draco caught a glimpse of them as he got on the train. Goyle looked worried. “I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “Did we screw something up?”

Crabbe looked uneasy for a moment, as well, before his face hardened. “No. _No_ ,” he repeated. “We just go and tell them he was scared, that’s all. Okay?”

Draco followed Ginny into a compartment with Harry, and collapsed on the seat next to her. “That wasn’t as bad as it might have been,” he said with false cheer. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” Harry looked hatefully at his rival. “Aren’t you supposed to be making sure no one’s getting into trouble? That’s what Ron and Hermione are out doing.”

“I’ve already finished,” Draco told him smugly. “And besides, the worst troublemaker in the whole school is you, so I’m better off in here if I want to work preventive maintenance, aren’t I?”

“Shut your gob hole!” Harry snarled, yanking out his wand. “I’m not in the mood to put up with your attitude today, Malfoy!”

“ _My_ attitude? My dear chap, I’m _hardly_ the one behaving like an overwrought Hamlet at one moment, and then transforming into Attila the Hun the next!”

“You know what, Malfoy?” Harry shouted. “I don’t even _need_ my wand! I’ll just _punch_ your lousy teeth in!”

“Boys. It’s sweet of you to fight over me, but really, you don’t have to make quite such a fuss,” Ginny said loudly, and there was a sudden silence as both of them turned to gape at her. “Really, you’re embarrassing yourselves,” she told them. Harry’s face was turning dark red, but Malfoy was beginning to look amused.

“You don’t miss a trick, do you?” he inquired, laughter playing at the corners of his mouth. 

She merely smiled smugly at both of them, and Harry coughed and looked away. Draco sighed. “What shall we do to pass the time? Exploding snap? Which Wizard? Spin the Bottle?” He winked at Ginny, who gave him a withering look in response.

“You are absolutely depraved, Malfoy,” Harry said in a tight voice. “And if Ron hears you talking like that, he’ll shave your head and have a pair of socks made from the hair.”

“Why, is he jealous when other men hit on you?” Malfoy taunted, and brought his wand up just in time to use Impedimentia on Harry’s fist. Harry, realizing his fingers were right near Draco’s cheek, yanked them back as though he’d been burned, face filled with revulsion.

“You! He! I!”

“A threesome, you mean? Potter, how unexpectedly _naughty_ of you!” Draco sneered. Harry lunged.

“Stop provoking him, damn it!” Ginny growled. She had one hand on Harry’s chest, and was trying to prevent him from tearing Malfoy into little pieces with his bare hands.

“For God’s sake, the boy needs to grow a sense of humour,” Draco groaned. “He _knows_ I’m not serious. I’ve _heard_ the two of them discussing the finer points of Lavender’s quickly developing assets, so I would have to doubt their homosexuality. Not that I care,” he added apathetically. 

“Right,” Harry retorted, still looking enraged. “Because you and your blue-blooded perverts of a family probably all sleep together in the same _bed_. How could _you_ judge anyone even if they weren’t straight? Be a bit of a hypocrite, wouldn’t you?”

Draco stiffened at this. “Typical Gryffindor response. You can’t think of anything original, so you accuse me of having relations with my mother, father, and the family dog.”

“Oh, the dog, too?” Harry shot back smugly. “I knew it. You couldn’t get a date _outside_ the family tree if you wanted! All normal, healthy witches would throw up in their cauldrons if you looked twice at them!”

“Oh, really?”

Ginny saw the steely glint in Draco’s eye right before he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a passionate kiss.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER! I’LL TELL RON!” Harry roared, clutching Ginny’s other arm and yanking her away. 

Draco maintained his composure. “I trust you have little desire to be ill?” he asked her solicitously.

Ginny gave a great sigh and rolled her eyes. “Yes, Draco, that was very nice. Now if we’ll all just calm down—”

“ _Nice?_ ” both Harry and Draco said in unison. 

“Just _nice_?” Draco asked, right as Harry said, “Kissing Draco Malfoy is _nice?_ ”

Ginny was now standing in the aisle between them, and shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “Well…yes. Er, it was quite wonderful, actually,” she said, feeling like she ought to show a bit of loyalty to…whatever it was Draco was to her. Malfoy relaxed a bit at this, but Harry looked even more upset. “Er…not that I’ve had a lot of experience kissing boys,” she added modestly. 

“Right,” Harry said. “Well, that explains it. You don’t know what a kiss is supposed to be _like_ , but it certainly isn’t a disgusting ferret slobbering all over you.” He was taking his glasses off as he spoke, and Ginny froze. Surely he wasn’t going to… “It’s—it’s—supposed to be—more like this,” he stuttered, and leaned down, pressing his lips to hers.

There were supposed to be fireworks. Violins. _Magic_. She was kissing Harry Bloody Potter, for pity’s sake, the boy of her _dreams,_ her childhood crush! Instead, Harry’s lips were chapped and he was awkward, and though she’d only kissed three boys herself, she was clearly more experienced than Harry, who seemed to have no idea what he was doing. And just a couple of years ago, it _still_ would have thrilled her to the core.

“It’s supposed to be like _that_ ,” he said breathlessly, pulling back and looking anxiously into her eyes.

Ginny didn’t know how to respond. She tried smiling tentatively, and saw Draco from the corner of her eye, stiff and glowering. “Well…yes, that was nice, too…” she said eventually.

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say. Harry looked hurt and a bit miffed, and Draco shot out of his seat, his eyes cold. “Well, that _was_ fun, let’s all do it again sometime,” he said in a livid voice, pushing past her. “I’m just going to go make sure the world is still spinning on its axis without my supervision, and I’ll leave the two of you to your disgustingly unsurprising snuggling. Good day.”

Ginny watched him go past, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “But—I—”

“You needn’t _bother_ ,” he snarled, shoving her hands away from his sleeve and stomping out the door, where he nearly ran into Ron and Hermione.

“Is everything all right?” Hermione inquired, her eyes darting from Draco’s face to Ginny’s.

“The world is a magnificent place filled with roses and sunshine and revolting little puppies that piss on your rugs,” Draco spat. “And I’d really love to stick around and throw various witty insults at you, but they’re all over your head and I’ve become ill from your presence. So, if you’ll pardon me,” he added, stalking past the two of them and heading off to Merlin knew where.

“Well! He’s in a bit of a tetchy mood, isn’t he?” Hermione said, smoothing her robes. 

“Hmph,” said Harry, scowling out the window.

“Well, at least he’s gone,” Ron said, sitting beside his friend. “Right, mate?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Ginny and I probably both going to die from some horrible Death Eating Disease from that kiss, though.”

Ron boggled. “ _What?_ Are you saying that you kissed Draco _Malfoy_?”

Harry gave him a scornful look. “No, you idiot. I’m saying that _Ginny_ kissed Malfoy.”

“ _What_?”

Hermione’s brow was wrinkled. “How on earth would _you_ catch a disease from that?” she asked Harry.

“Because I kissed Ginny after she kissed Malfoy,” he explained rather patiently, considering he went off like a firework at the least little thing these days.

“ _What_? You kissed Ginny!?” Ron exclaimed. “Good on you!” he nudged Harry a bit in the ribs, smiling widely. “Took you long enough; always _knew_ it would happen!” Harry smiled a little. 

Ginny resisted the urge to hex her brother’s ears off, and dug her nails into her palms. As the boys exchanged a few quiet laughs, Hermione pulled Ginny into a corner of the car and put up a quick silencing charm.

“Are you all right?” she asked, warm eyes full of concern. “I’m not going to have to curse their co—er, _you knows_ off for any inappropriate behaviour, am I?”

Ginny giggled, raising a hand to shield her glowing face. It was hard to imagine Hermione—always rather prudish—saying a dirty word. What was worse, she couldn’t _help_ but imagine what Draco’s face would look like if he’d been there. “No, I’m fine,” she assured the older girl. “I’m just…” she trailed off, shrugging. “It wasn’t what I was expecting.” She glanced nervously at the boys and admitted in a small voice, “But Draco’s was much, _much_ better.”

Hermione snorted. “Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if he were a bit of a playboy. You’d best stay away from him, though. Really, Ginny, I know he’s awfully cute, but think of the trouble it would bring! Just…be careful and really give it some thought, would you?”

Ginny nodded miserably. Of all the people she knew, she’d expected Hermione to understand, somehow. Now, instead of having an ally, she was one more person who disapproved. And how could she _ever_ be happy if it meant making everyone else angry? 

When Hermione took down the silencing charm and everyone started talking again, Ginny sank silently into her seat, lost in thought. She’d really like to see what Draco thought of all this— _if_ he thought anything at all. Now that they’d be back at school, maybe he wouldn’t bother flirting with her. After all, Pansy Parkinson was obviously interested in him, and a _lot_ more accessible.

Grimly, Ginny shook her head a bit, trying to break out of the cloud of depression that seemed to be settling over her. It wasn’t like she had to _throw_ herself at Draco; there was surely some way of getting him alone to talk things over. Er. To talk about… _things_ , at any rate. And if the subject of what he planned to do now they were back to school came up, it was really only natural. Yes, that would probably work. Discreetly slipping a piece of parchment out, Ginny set about scrawling a quick note to set her plan into action.

w.insanejournal.com/manage/settings/">Browse Options | [Site Map](http://www.insanejournal.com/site/) ]


	8. Dark Lord?s Little Helper, Chapter Eight

** RATING ** : PG-13

** PAIRING ** : Draco/Ginny

** DISCLAIMER ** : Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc. 

** BETAS ** : Gemsbok, ShadowPhoenix

** SUMMARY ** : Between fighting down surges of envy, attempting to unravel the secret of Harry’s dream, and surviving mysterious attacks on his person, Draco must still attempt to court Ginny… He’s sure Potter never had it this hard.

** I Have my Pride…Hang on…Huh…I Know I’ve got it Here Somewhere… **

Draco didn’t see the girl again until they lined up to head into the castle. He _did_ , however, have the dubious pleasure of fighting Parkinson’s advances off for most of the train ride. Pansy was a shameless flirt, and was all but sitting in his lap by the time they arrived. Draco wished he could have enjoyed it more, but he mostly just found it annoying. 

The worst bit was, after staring out the window in introspection for almost an hour, he turned to Pansy and asked her point blank; “Do _you_ find Potter attractive?”

To which she ‘giggled demurely,’ squeaking like a demented chipmunk, and replied, “Yeah, he’s kind of cute, in that idiot Gryffindor way.” Of course, she may have said so only because he’d remarked, since they’d sat down, that Ginny Weasley had rather nice teeth, that Ginny Weasley threw a good curse, and that Ginny Weasley had a pleasant voice, but _still!_ Give a bloke a break.

He resolved to ignore the two-timing redhead from then on, but hadn’t counted on her extreme perseverance, nor his own apparently negligible willpower. As soon as they were walking up the steps to the castle, he felt something slide into his hand, and looked down to see her own pressing a note to his palm. She gave him a completely guileless wide, brown-eyed look, and he responded with what he was sure was an incredibly goofy grin. 

She immediately pulled away to join the Gryffindors, and Draco fought to bring his face under control. Dear _God,_ he’d practically been _simpering_ at her! Malfoys did _not_ simper! Next he knew, he’d be writing fluffy love poems, serenading her beneath her window, and sending her charmed chocolates. No, the madness stopped here! Taking a deep breath, he surreptitiously unfolded the note. 

_ Meet me in the library tonight while everyone else is at the feast,  _ it heartlessly read.

_ G.W. _

__

Ha. Well, they’d just see who was stronger, wouldn’t they? Some smarmy little freckle-faced girl, or the majestic heir to the Malfoy fortune—if he hadn’t been formally disowned yet. However much things had changed, Draco was certain he remained the same. He was not caving to that redheaded brat. And she could take _Potter_ to her little tryst in the library, if she needed it so badly—because Draco Malfoy wasn’t coming.

***************************************************************

Draco arrived in the library, dressed rather finely and wearing a debonair expression. “You wanted to see me?” he inquired, smirking and wiggling his eyebrows. She whacked him with a book.

“Not for _that,_ you louse! I wanted to see if you had any ideas about…the Harry problem. I figured we could really get some good research in, since Hogwarts has one of the best libraries in existence. Where should we start?”

Draco muttered complaints under his breath, rubbing his arm where she’d hit him as he followed her to a table. “You _do_ know that I’m risking life and limb to be here with you tonight, don’t you?” he asked. “I mean, sneaking out of my dorm, evading the many spies of Slytherin, risking the wrath of my head of house?”

Ginny tossed her hair over her shoulder as she sat down. “Well, yes,” she said, sounding utterly unconcerned. “That’s what the good guys _do_ for their friends—risk life and limb in order to help them.”

Malfoy gave her his most imperious glare. “ _Potter_ is _not_ my _friend_.”

“No,” she agreed, flipping a book open before her, and barely paying attention to him. “But I am.”

Draco opened his mouth to parry the remark, but halted before anything came out. He thought this over, opened his mouth again, and once again clamped it shut. After repeating this several times in quick succession, he finally collapsed beside her, scowling viciously. “Bloody hell. You’re _right._ How thoroughly irritating. _And_ how the mighty have fallen.” Ginny proceeded to ignore him, lost in the ancient tome. “Well, on the other hand, I suppose that Gryffindors are usually loyal, and you _do_ bite. It’s a bit like having man’s best friend about, I suppose.”

“Mmm. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend,” she countered in a distracted voice, licking a finger to turn the page. 

“Is that a hint?”

She looked perplexed. “What?”

“Oh, never mind,” he replied, airily waving his hand. “ _Much_ too soon to be talking about that, and besides; I’m probably going to have to start _pawning_ things if I want to get you anything decent. I’ve been cut off from my accounts, the Headmaster told me privately, which is _seriously_ going to put a kink in my admittedly somewhat indulgent lifestyle. Of course—”

“Draco?” 

“Yes, dear?”

“What the blazes are you _on_ about?” She stared at him, appearing absolutely flummoxed.

“Oh, just planning for the future. You can never start too young when it comes to planning for your future—or for crushing the dreams of your underlings, so my father tells me, or for—”

“Draco.”

“ _Yes_ , dear,” he replied, sounding far more henpecked than the first time around. “And would you _please_ stop interrupting me?”

“Yes, of course, so long as you do one little thing for me.” She smiled charmingly at him, and he scooted his chair closer.

“Absolutely!” he responded with a wide smile.

“Good. Then shut the bloody hell up and help me go through these books. I’ve a list here of all the books containing animals, reptiles or otherwise, and it’s a very long one, so we’d best get started.”

Draco heaved a frustrated sigh, tugging a musty volume across the table. “Has anyone ever told you what a romantic you are?” he asked peevishly, flipping through the fragile pages.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Thought not.” He drummed his fingers on the desk for a bit, his mind elsewhere. Finally he said, “Ginny?” in a rather suspicious tone. “What did you tell your brother? About the feast and everything, I mean. After all, I hardly expect you to have chirped, ‘Oh, sorry I can’t make it, but Draco Malfoy—the world’s greatest lover—and I will be necking in the library! Have a nice evening!’”

“My voice is _not_ that high, nor is it that obnoxiously cheerful,” she pointed out with annoyance.

Draco shrugged. “Is this the cunning art of avoidance I see being performed before me?”

The redhead slammed the book in front of her shut. “I just told him I wasn’t feeling well, and that maybe I’d be down later.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Don’t be like that,” she said desperately. “I _couldn’t_ tell him I was meeting with you; he _hates_ you. And we have _enough_ on our plates without having my homicidal brother around.”

“Yes, of course,” Draco replied coolly, undoing a scroll so he could make a list of likely sources. “And _Potter,_ of course, would go into some sort of melodramatic torment overload if he saw us together.”His lips were pinched together tightly, and he very carefully did not look in her direction.

“Is _that_ what’s bothering you?” she responded, sounding genuinely surprised. “Because Harry _kissed_ me earlier?”

Draco sniffed, tossing his bangs back with a pale hand. “Don’t be ludicrous,” he retorted. “I’m sure I, along with the rest of the insipid morons that comprise the wizarding world, am just waiting anxiously for your idyllic white wedding and saccharine swoonfest. Take it easy on the groom, would you? Word in Ravenclaw has it that he’s _frightfully_ inept with his lips, and Parvati says he’s an absolute clod on the dance floor. Resign yourself to a life of having to lead, then. No doubt his money and fame _well_ make up for his lack of prowess in other areas, but—”

“ _Draco!_ ” she snapped, and he fell into a sullen silence. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more blatantly jealous in all my life. Well, apart from Ron in fourth year, but that was entirely his fault.”

“I am _not_ jealous! I am _happy for you_ ,” he spat, as though each word was more disgusting than the last. “I can hardly _wait_ to greet your diminutive, freckled, nearsighted children into this world!”

Ginny couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Oh, stop it.” Seeing that he was still seething quietly, she reached a tentative hand out and took it with her own. “Harry’s… _nice_ ,” she admitted. “But he’s kind of a loose cannon right now, and…he lacks your rather unique sense of humour.” Draco seemed to relax a bit at this, shoulders falling into a more natural set. “Besides,” she added softly, “You really are a _much_ better kisser.”

He perked up considerably at this. “Er. Am I really? Of course, that might not be saying much…I get the impression that the giant squid would be a better kisser than Potter.” He grinned when she rolled her eyes. “All right, I’ll behave. Um. You wouldn’t care to…um. Since you supposedly enjoyed it so much, and everything…”

Ginny fixed him with a hard look. “Not until we’ve made some headway in the books,” she told him firmly. “We’re not going to get all distracted first and lose track of time.”

“Ah! I _distract_ you, do I? Yes, that _is_ a common complaint of the women round me. I can hardly help it if my irresistible charisma—”

“Draco! Books!”

He heaved a great sigh and plunged into the non-fiction world of monstrous reptiles. “Oh, all _right_.”

*******************************************************************

They went on like that at least once a week, pretending to be studying, avoiding their friends and peers. Draco was less than satisfied with the arrangement. “I suppose I can understand not wanting to scream from the rooftops that we’re having a relationship,” he said one evening after they’d met in their usual nook. “I mean, after all, my death is highly sought after by both the Death Eaters _and_ most of your brothers, but it really is rather chafing that we can’t tell _anyone._ I can’t help but feel that you’re ashamed of me—though I _know_ that’s impossible. Who wouldn’t want to brag about dating the dashing, dapper, clever, cultured, and devilishly divine Draco Malfoy?”

Ginny rolled her eyes, smiling a little. “Well, if nothing else, you’ve convinced me that there’s a fine line between aggravation and love. _I_ can’t tell the difference anymore. At any rate, do you think we’re getting anywhere at _all_? We’ve been at this for _weeks._ ”

“Mmm,” he responded noncommittally. He pulled over the piece of parchment they were using to write down possible leads. “Listen to this; ‘The Red-bellied black snake’…blah blah…‘somewhat less venomous than’…so forth and so on…‘coagulaopathy’…uh-huh…nope. Doesn’t even cause death. Fuck. I’m beginning to think you’re right—this is a _complete_ waste of time.” He swiftly shut the book. 

“Maybe I should work on finding out what I can from Harry,” Ginny suggested. “After all, it was his dream, and I’m sure that with a bit of prodding on my part and sifting and sorting on his, we’d be bound to come up with _some_ kind of clue.”

“Oh, jolly _good_ ,” Draco said in a chilly voice. “Let me guess, you’ll put on something low-cut, invite him in for a drink, then try to seduce the information out of him before he goes Harry Haywire on you again? Brilliant plan, Rottweiler.”

Ginny gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m not going to do anything _like_ seduction, and where on earth would I invite him in for a drink? Where would I even _get_ a drink, Draco? I’ll just…I’ll just…reason with him, that’s all.”

Draco smirked. “Even _better._ May I watch? It’s sure to be entertaining, especially since his angst gland is just _churning_ it out. I can hear him now, ‘Why can’t you all just leave me _aloooone?_ Stay out of my room! Stay away from my stuff! Don’t look at me! You all _hate_ me, don’t you? You’re keeping _secrets_ from me, aren’t you? None of you understands how hard it is to be the most whopping famous person who ever lived, have scads of cash, and have everyone think you’re some sort of God. It’s _sooooo haaaaard!_ ” 

Ginny chucked a book at him, but missed. As it hit the floor, a sound like _FWHOOOMPH_ reverberated from below. They stared at the book in silence for a moment. “What was that?” she finally whispered.

Draco was rather paler than normal. “I think it came from the dungeons,” he told her dully. 

Then she was running, pulling Draco from his chair, joining the crowd in the hallway, fighting through swarms of people, pushing and shoving down the dungeon steps, smoke billowing up from below. The Slytherin password wasn’t even necessary; everything was wide open in the emergency. She could hear Malfoy’s voice in her ear, insisting that whatever had happened, they were too late, they were going the wrong way, they should be getting outside with the others, that they couldn’t do any _good_. She ignored him.

A large black shape formed in the thick smoke, striding quickly towards them, motioning them back up the stairs. “Go,” the dark voice commanded.

“Professor Snape?” Ginny coughed a little. Her eyes were beginning to water. “What—what happened?”

Snape gave them a steely glance. “It appears that someone set Mister Malfoy’s bed alight,” he said finally. “And isn’t it lucky that Mister Malfoy wasn’t there?” A smirk, an arm rising, his robe over their heads, protecting them from the noxious air as he guided them out of the dungeon.

Something inside Draco was frozen. Just because a few weeks had gone by apparently didn’t mean the Dark Lord had forgotten about him. In fact, it seemed Draco Malfoy was still very much on the man’s—er, man in a loose sense, at any rate—mind (also in a loose sense). Dumbledore had given Draco a room of his own—for his protection. To be able to get through the wards that had been put up, someone had to have been very determined indeed. Things had abruptly progressed beyond menacing goons and empty threats. The Dark Lord wanted Draco dead. Someone was trying to kill him.

He tried to look over his shoulder at the smoke-filled lower chambers, but Snape’s robe was in the way. Too bad, that—it always helped to have a visual. He wondered who it could have been. Crabbe and Goyle didn’t seem quite swift enough to have managed it, and Pansy seemed completely oblivious to the shifting politics of the summer. Millicent didn’t strike him as the type—in fact, when you got right down to it, the only person in Slytherin house intelligent enough to break Draco’s wards and torch his room was pretty much Draco himself. _Well,_ he amended in his head, _And Professor Snape, of course._

He swallowed and insinuated himself between the taller wizard and Ginny. This was an unfortunate development. He was fairly certain, because of his father’s intimations, that Severus Snape was a spy for Voldemort. And he was clever. He was cunning. He was a bloody sneaky bastard, too.

After he’d gotten them out of the dungeons, Snape yanked his cloak away, standing back and glaring at them suspiciously. “Miss _Weasley,_ ” he said in a coldly civil tone. “You’re a bit _far_ from your ivory tower, aren’t you? And Draco,” he whirled to stare down into grey eyes, holding the pause for far too long. “It almost seems as though someone might disapprove of your current choice of compatriots, does it not?” He arched a brow and spun on his heel. “Come with me. I shall let the Headmaster explain things to you.”

*******************************************************************

“My things!” Draco was moaning pitifully. “All of my marvellous, luxurious _things!”_ He ran his fingers over a blackened bit of cloth. “My Turkish cotton bathrobe! My lovely squashy armchair upholstered in the finest Italian leather! My pants! My French silk-lined paaaants!”

“Oh, stop it, Draco,” Ginny told him crossly. “It could have been _far_ worse. It could have been _you_ , roasting like a marshmallow in there!” They were sitting in what was left of Draco’s dorm, which was no longer burning brightly, but still emitting the occasional puff of smoke, as he tried to determine whether anything was salvageable.

Draco heaved a large sigh and flopped down on the floor beside her (not leather) chair. “Yes, yes. I suppose you’re right. Dumbledore says I was quite lucky that I happened to sneak out to meet you in the library just as someone decided to christen me the Amazing Combustible Slytherin. Still, that stuff was the _only_ stuff I had left. Now I have no _choice_ but to fight the Dark Lord, on the off chance of deposing my father and reclaiming my birthright.” He sighed loudly again. “It’s all such a _bother._ ”

“That’s the spirit,” Ginny told him helpfully, stroking his hair. It made her ill to think someone had been trying to hurt him, and that only the fact that he’d been with her had averted such a disaster. “Did Dumbledore say _exactly_ that? Um. About being with me, and everything?”

“Yes…come to think of it, he did know rather a lot, didn’t he? I was too busy grieving for my hand-stitched Maltese slippers to care at the time. Oh, lord…the _slippers_.” He leaned his forehead against her knee.

“There, there,” Ginny told him in a voice that only held the dregs of ‘you’re-being-silly-now-stop-it’ nuances. “Snape says he’ll have you a new room ready as quick as anything.”

For some reason, Draco only whimpered more at this revelation. “ _Please_ quit trying to cheer me up,” he begged her.

Ginny was looking about the room with an air of contemplation, her dark eyes narrowed in thought. “I wonder _why_ someone is trying to kill you, though,” she mused aloud.

“Hello? Dark Lord? Deserter? Malfoy, King of Evil—or at least, Archduke of Evil? Any of this ringing a bell?” he asked, staring at her in disbelief.

“Well, _yes,_ but what _good_ would it do them? Is it just supposed to be a lesson to those who might switch sides, or what?”

“Who cares _why_ they did it! They _did_ it! Isn’t that enough?” He deviously rubbed his cheek against her thigh.

Sighing, she flicked his ear hard enough that he squawked indignantly. “No, Draco—I’m being _serious_. Do you _know_ something that they’re worried about getting spread around?”

“What, like…the Dark Lord wet his pants until he was nearly seven, type of thing?”

“ _No,_ you unfortunately handsome idiot. I mean like…their _weaknesses._ Like…okay, Harry was telling us Muggle stories once, and there was this one bloke that got all sick whenever you got a green rock near him. Stuff like that. I mean, you’re actually _related_ to some of them. What do you know that could help us, you know, bring them down?”

Draco scrunched up his nose in thought. “Their _weaknesses_? Well…um. Father’s deathly allergic to cats, I do know that.” Ginny gave him one of those looks, and he shrugged. “I don’t know! None of them melt if you spill water on them, they can’t be banished by saying their names backwards three times, and they’re just as strong after sunrise as they are before. None of them ever took me aside and said, ‘Oh, just for future reference, if you poke me in the ankle with a sharp stick, I’ll fall down screaming and die.’ They never trusted me.”

Ginny rested her chin in her hand, disappointed. “There has to be _something._ Really, Draco; you have to be more useful than this. Or I’m going to be really let down. They really never told you _anything?_ ”

He frowned at her. “No! Nothing! Mother said it was to ‘protect’ me. The only things I ever found out about were because of sitting on the landing and overhearing conversations. And it was dead quiet after Father escaped Azkaban, except for the whole bit about having Auntie and Uncle Nut-job over and offering me up as a burnt sacrifice. Oh, and…I dunno. Something about how the Dark Lord would invite Potter to a cocktail party before the year was out, and then they all laughed, as they usually do. Aunt Bellatrix with a hair-raising shriek, Uncle Rodolphus with low, murmuring madness, and Father and Mother with dutiful host/hostess appreciation. That’s all.” Draco’s eyes fluttered closed as Ginny’s fingers gently rubbed his temples. “They just didn’t _trust_ me. Kept thinking I’d sell them out to the other side.”

“Well, sounds to me like they were _right_ , then,” a new, angry voice spoke up. “And I think we’ll be taking a page out of their book and not telling you anything either.” Ron was framed in the door, scowling ferociously. “Dumbledore told me I’d find you down here, Ginny. I didn’t expect to see you cuddling up to the ferret, though. How many times have I told you to stay away from him?”

“And how many times have I told you to mind your own business?” she shot back promptly. 

“It’s nice to see you, too, Weasel,” Draco said courteously. “Dear brother-in-law, have you come to help restore my room?”

Ron’s face flamed Chudley Cannon maroon. “WHAT did you call me?”

Draco grinned evilly as he stood up. “Ooooooh, direct hit! I’ll have to remember that one.”

Ron grabbed Ginny by the arm, hauling her out the door. “We. Are. _Leaving_.”

Draco could hear her protesting and explaining as she was dragged away, complaining about Ron’s heavy-handed tactics, insisting her life was her own. He shrugged, navigating the debris and poking his head out the door. “Don’t worry, Cupcake! Your handsome prince will come and rescue you from the nasty ogre just as soon as he’s got his décor all straightened out! Kisses!”

Dimly, he thought he heard Ron make a noise like an enraged harpy somewhere above, and Ginny yelled, “Oh, _Draco_ ,” exasperatedly. A job well done. Now, all he had to do was figure out who was trying to kill him, save Potter from his mysterious fate, and crush his father while leaving the family name intact. He wondered if he’d have time for a bit of lunch at some point. 


	9. Dark Lord's Little Helper, Chapter Nine

** TITLE ** :[Dark Lord’s Little Helper, Chapter Nine](http://the-con-cept.insanejournal.com/2005/03/07/)

** RATING ** : PG-13

** PAIRING ** : Draco/Ginny

** DISCLAIMER ** : Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc. 

** BETAS ** : Gemsbok, ShadowPhoenix

** SUMMARY ** : The unthinkable happens, and it looks like Voldemort has gotten to Harry. What can Ginny and Draco possibly do when it’s already too late?

** DEDICATIONS ** : To Nori, as always.

** Chapter Nine: Draco Malfoy, Potions Genius **

Ginny purposely sat beside Harry at breakfast, trying to gauge his mood. He was so unpredictable these days, and it paid to be on one’s toes. Across the Great Hall, she could see a puffy-eyed Draco Malfoy seating himself fastidiously at a corner of the Slytherin table, his hair in a state of disarray. He claimed that anything but the best natural boar bristles were too rough on his scalp. She was _really_ going to have to talk with him about his extreme wussiness. 

“So, Harry,” she said brightly, and forcing her smile to persist in the face of his suspicious glance. “How are you feeling today?”

“Like crap,” he said succinctly. “I had another dream. Are you happy now?”

Her smile wilted. “No. I’m sorry; I didn’t know you were still having nightmares.”

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, already puffier than Draco’s. “Well, I am. Fat lot of fun it is, too. I _told_ Dumbledore, and I _told_ Snape, and I _told_ McGonagall, so there isn’t anyone left to snitch to, all right?”

Ginny’s mouth snapped shut. “You’re a right royal pain in the arse, you know that? No consideration for other people’s feelings, _no_ admission that they might be looking out for your best interests, you just go—”

“All right, All _right_ already! I get the picture! Crikey. Give me a break, would you? I’m operating on something like six hours of sleep, _total,_ in the past five days. I know you’re trying to help and all.”

Ginny took a deep breath. “What was your mother like?”

He glared at her. “Dead. Very dead. At an early age. Pretty much all I can remember of her, all right?”

She rolled her eyes. “What did he _say_ about her, then?” she persisted. 

“Nothing! And I’m not supposed to talk about it! He just said her name, as far as I can remember.” He pushed his bangers about his plate, looking as though he’d like to strangle them. 

She sighed. “What about the rest of your family? What did he say that led you to think he was talking about them? Did he say _their_ names? Their descriptions?”

“What, fat, horrible Muggles? No! He just said something about my mum’s family and their house on Privet Drive, okay? Is care and share time over, yet? Are you through harassing me? Can I go back to sulking over my breakfast in peace, without intolerable little witches scrutinizing my every move? Huh? God, why don’t you go away and bother those oily Slytherins you seem to like so much?”

Offended, Ginny slammed her seat back and swept up her things, marching angrily away. Where did he get _off_ , anyhow? Why couldn’t he try just being _polite_ for five seconds at a time? It seemed like he was driven to _make_ people want to kill him, and the Dark Lord was going to have to wait in line if this kept up. 

“Oy! Ginny?” she heard him call in a less antagonistic, more uncertain voice. 

She stopped, counted to ten, and turned around. “Yes?”

“Um. Are you staying over Christmas, then?” 

“Yes. Mum and Dad are…really busy,” she affirmed.

He grinned. “Oh. Good. So am I. So…see you around, then?” He continued grinning at her hopefully, and she opened her mouth, shut it again, and stalked away, shaking her head. _You don’t get to be in any house but Gryffindor, with nerve like THAT,_ she thought.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Goddamit! Stay away from him, Ginny, or I’ll tell Mum!” Ron roared, stomping away. Ginny was following him, gesturing angrily and (though she’d certainly deny it if approached) crying just a little. Tears of anger, frustration, definitely not sadness or weakness. Draco would _never_ be stupid enough to mistake them for _that._

He sighed, trudging back into the depths of Hogwarts, hoping against hope that someone would buy him a new set of sheets, a wide arrange of hair care products, a down mattress and a new wardrobe for Christmas. Another day, another scene with Weasley and his sister. It was getting old quickly. The worst bit was that Ron wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg; she had _five others_ at home. It was starting to give him nightmares. 

They’d been reduced to meeting in secret most of the time, slipping each other notes, skulking about the castle in the dead of night like some sort of criminals. The cloak and dagger aspect was nearly the _only_ good thing about it, as it was rather exciting. Ginny insisted the time be spent doing research, and _not_ snogging, although that happened now and again, too.

And on top of everything, _now_ it had to go and be Christmas. On the whole, Draco didn’t have anything _against_ Christmas; it had always meant an unbelievably large hoard of new playthings for him, in the past, and he didn’t particularly object to good will towards men so long as he didn’t have to participate. It was just that this particularChristmas was going to suck great big goose eggs. 

He probably wasn’t going to get a damn thing from his family, for starters. After several months of having been separated from them he thought he _might_ even have appreciated a good whack from his father’s cane. You knew you’d been whacked, with a cane like that. And one of his mother’s fake kisses near his cheek at night would have been _really_ welcome. He wondered if he was, indeed, a masochist. 

Instead of the usual lovely spread of greed and gluttony the Malfoys put on every year, he’d be stuck _here_ , in with the misfits and rejects. It was unthinkable. And even _worse_ was the fact that Ginny’s brothers were coming to visit, as some sort of contradictory way of ‘cheering everyone up.’ _Everyone,_ of course, being Ginny and Ron and Harry. Well, and Hermione, too, Draco supposed, although she’d never seemed terribly fond of them in any case. 

Draco certainly wasn’t overly fond of them himself. He had a shrewd idea that if Fred or George caught him kissing their little sister, he’d be receiving a highly embarrassing disease for Christmas, and _if_ he was lucky, that would be _all_ he got out of it. _No worries, there, then,_ a nasty little voice in his head piped up, _as she certainly won’t be kissing you. If you stuck a big branch of mistletoe over her head, she’d probably yell, ‘Where’s Harry?’_

__

Ginny wasspending far too much time around Potter recently. Trying to get him to ‘open up,’ supposedly. Draco didn’t _want_ Potter to open up any more than he had. He’d prefer it if Potter would do him a favour and simply implode _._ He could almost hear Ginny chiding him for his lack of Christmas spirit. He should be _nice_ to Potter. It was the season of brotherly love _._ And…various other bollocks. He’d tried to explain to her that no matter what, he and Potter were _always_ going to hate each other, and would loveto see each other mauled by rabid Catholic priests. But would she listen? She just got a hurt, sort of worried look on her face, and wandered off muttering about compromise. How irritating. 

_Speak of the freak boy,_ Draco thought as he caught sight of Harry plowing through a group of fourth year girls towards him. “What a _dreadful_ way of treating your poor innocent fangirls,” he remarked with a smirk, as Harry stomped up.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry snapped, shoving his glasses back up his nose.

“I see you’re in one of _those_ moods again. You really ought to see Professor Snape about how to whip up a P.M.S. Potion.”

“Shut _up_ , Malfoy!” Harry repeated. “What d’you think you’re doing, hanging about Ginny like that? If I ever catch you putting your hands on her, I’ll spill that pure blood of yours all over the castle, you got that?”

“Potter! Stop starting fights in the hallway like some sort of pathetic Muggle delinquent,” a deep voice growled. Snape was bearing down on them.

Draco merely spread his hands to indicate his helpless in the matter, and smiled as Snape swooped in and chased Potter off. Then he made himself scarce. There was no direct evidence linking the Potions Master to the fire in his dorm, but that didn’t mean the man hadn’t done it. After all, _Snape_ would have been smart enough not to leave any.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“…and I do hope you all have a happy Christmas, and much thanks to Messiers Weasley for joining us on this festive occasion! As an aside, Professor McGonagall will not be joining us this evening, as her sickness is terribly virulent and resistant to Madam Pomfrey’s potions, but I’m sure you will all keep Minerva in your thoughts until she recovers from this _dreadful_ case of flu. On one other sober note, I urge you not to act up this evening,” here the Headmaster seemed to give a sharp look down the table, “As I will be visiting the Minister, and not able to put out any fires. This means _you_ , Weasley and Weasley. While we’re all very grateful for your contributions of wit and games, I ask you to restrict yourselves to sport within the bounds of human decency, if you would. And if there should be any problems while I am away, please discuss them with Professor Snape, as he will be in charge while the Deputy Headmistress is incapacitated. Now, then, tuck in!”

Harry let out a snort, probably at the idea of going to Snape with problems. Ginny supposed that was only natural. After all, the only problem Snape would agree to help Harry Potter with was if Harry wanted multiple body parts removed, and the only sort of problem Harry would approach Snape about would be if Harry had a particularly large projectile and needed someone to aim it at.

Ginny watched with a growing sense of guilt as Draco listlessly stirred his soup. He was seated at the other end of the table, and hadn’t met her eyes all evening. She couldn’t really blame him, and tried to stifle a depressed sigh. It wasn’t a very cheerful Christmas feast, although her brothers were trying to liven things up. To her left, George was crowing, “And they _never found the head!_ ” and he and Fred banged their mugs on the tables, laughing just as hard as anyone who _hadn’t_ told the joke at least a bazillion times. Under the table, something connected sharply with her ankle.

“Stop that,” Ron warned in an undertone, sitting across from her. She gave him an innocent, questioning look, but he merely jerked his chin towards Malfoy and glowered at her. Then he gave a nod at Harry, beside her, who was almost asleep in his first course. Obviously this was supposed to be her happily ever after. What a crock.

She’d passed Draco a note earlier about how she didn’t think she could get away from her family tonight, and that she was really sorry. He hadn’t sent her any notes back or said anything in response, but his weary, hurt silence spoke volumes. He wasn’t even responding to Parkinson, chattering away and giggling about how he should invite her back to his room, so they could _really_ set the bed on fire. 

Ginny considered cursing the girl. She couldn’t, though; what on _earth_ could she do to the annoying Slytherin to make her worse than she already was? Besides, even as she watched, Draco was rising from the table, abandoning the meal, saying he was going to retire early. She followed him with her eyes, feeling awful. She was ruining his holiday, she knew, but if the twins found out about them, they’d be sure to ruin it _worse._

Partway through the meal, Ginny tried to strike up another conversation with Harry. “What do you want for Christmas?” she asked.

“Oh, I dunno. Five minutes without someone trying to kill me would be favourite,” he said wryly. “My dead godfather brought back to life? A real family? A full night’s sleep?”

Ginny gave him a sad smile. “I know. I wish I could give you those things. That’s why I pry, you know. So I can look for ways of helping that maybe you haven’t spotted. I’m really _not_ just trying to drive you insane.”

Harry looked uncharacteristically cowed by this, and nodded slightly. “I just hate having to think about it all the time,” he said. “No one ever seems to want to talk about anything else, and when they _try_ , it sounds so _fake_.”

“How about this, then? I’ll ask you a couple of questions that I really want the answers to about the important stuff, and then we’ll talk about other stuff, because I’ll have gotten the answers I wanted and won’t care any more. See?”

“Er…I guess so,” he replied warily. “What did you want to know?”

“I _know_ this is upsetting, but I’d like to know every little detail you can remember from your dream. _Please,_ Harry; it’s terribly important!” She gazed up at him with pleading eyes.

He looked like he might burst a seam for a moment, before struggling to get himself under control. “It’s…it’s really sketchy _,_ okay? I only got bits and pieces when I woke up. I don’t remember dreaming about a snake, okay? If you heard it, you heard it, but I don’t remember any snakes. I remember him saying something about Lily’s family, and Privet Drive. And…I don’t know. He was laughing. He said something like, ‘A drink to the end of Potter,’ or something stupid like that.”

“Huh. That’s really very interesting. So. What do _you_ want to talk about? The weather? Quidditch? Lavender’s so-called assets?” She arched a brow sardonically. 

Harry turned pink and laughed nervously. “Oh, that. I was just. Er. We were just. Um. Nev—never mind. Quidditch? Quidditch is good. You know, you’re a lot better as a Chaser than you were as a Seeker, and that’s really saying something.”

Ginny lowered her eyes modestly, but before she could respond, Fred beat her to the punch. Literally. “Here, Harry; secret recipe,” he said with a wink, handing Harry a cup. “And the reason Ginny, here, is any good at all is the influence of two other stellar players in the family. And how could she _not_ have learned something from them? They were bloody magnificent.”

“Well, that’s true; Charlie _was_ pretty fantastic and Ron _is_ developing into a pretty good Keeper,” she interjected.

“Gah! The slight! Did you feel that, George?” he called over his shoulder.

“A terrible burning sensation,” George replied immediately. “Make her ears fall off, Fred,” he advised.

“Don’t,” Ginny insisted.

“So, Harry, what do you want for Christmas?” Fred was inquiring. “A girl? More punch? Something stronger? You can go into the kitchen any time, and if you give the house elves sweets, they’ll practically be your slaves.”

“They already are, aren’t they?” Harry asked, looking nervously round for Hermione.

“Oh, aye,” George said, coming to join the fun. He plopped down on Harry’s other side. “But Hogwarts rules say they aren’t allowed sugar. Gets ‘em all barmy. It’s fun.”

At this, Ginny shook her head, got up, and began edging out of the room. She really wanted to go check on Draco. It was Christmas, and he shouldn’t have to spend it alone. And after all, if she really liked him, she’d do better to get it over with and let the twins have their fun now. She was sure to get him back in one piece when they were done. More or less.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Draco was half-heartedly scribbling something about the scales of black snakes in the use of infertility potions when he heard feet scuffling towards him. He glanced up to see his study partner entering the room. “What are you doing here? I thought you were saving Potter from himself and making sure the gruesome twosome didn’t somehow turn us all into iguanas.”

Ginny arranged herself beside him, shrugging nonchalantly. “They seemed to be doing all right on their own. They were preaching the virtues of corruptible house elves and cheap liquor to Harry when I left. And I got what I needed from him, or at least, what there was to get.”

“Aren’t _we_ ruthless? Did you remember to toss his lifeless husk of a body in the lake once you’d sucked him dry?”

“Very funny. We just talked a bit. He was actually very courteous this evening.”

“Wonder how long _that’ll_ last,” Draco muttered darkly. 

“Anyhow. What are you doing here? I thought you said you weren’t feeling well, and that you were going to turn in early.”

“Yes, well. Parkinson _was_ making me ill, but after getting away from her disease-ridden clutches, I found myself much improved. Malfoys have got a strong constitution, you know. So I figured I might as well hole up in here and see if I couldn’t find _something_ useful.”

“Good idea! Here, hand me the list, would you? We’ve only got…about two dozen more books to go.”

“Great,” he said glumly. “Isn’t the rest of your insane asylum going to come looking for you once they realize you’re missing?”

“I’ll check back in on them shortly. Maybe. I’d…sort of prefer to stay here with you,” she finished quietly, and Draco looked up, slightly astonished. 

A little colour in his cheeks, he looked back down at his paper. It was pitifully short on actual leads. “So…what did Harry have to say, then?” he asked casually. 

“Not much,” she divulged with a sigh. “Just what he could remember from the dream. He doesn’t even _remember_ a snake, and that’s the one thing you and I can be sure he _did_ dream about! All he remembers is You-Know-Who saying something about Lily Potter’s family, and the Dursley’s house on Privet Drive.”

“Mmm. Helpful,” he remarked. Draco’s stomach interrupted the conversation with a loud injection.

Ginny laughed. “Shouldn’t have left without even eating the first course, should you?” she said.

“Tell me about it,” Malfoy responded, rolling his eyes. “And I’m _already_ faint with hunger.”

She hit him on the head with her own scrap of paper, where she’d written down everything that Harry said. “You are _not_ that delicate,” she said. “On the other hand, I didn’t get past the soup, either, and I’m still pretty hungry. Madam Pinch is still at the feast; think I have time to nip down to the kitchens and get us a snack?”

“Please don’t forget the pate,” he begged. “And just a little watercress sandwich or two? Oh, and some lobster bisque would be just the thing with some—”

“All right already. Let me go and maybe I’ll make it back before dawn,” she leaned down and pressed her lips briefly to his, tasting creamed asparagus and faint surprise. “Be right back,” she said, almost skipping away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the kitchens, Ginny was surprised to find there was something of a celebration going on amongst the house elves—or at least a couple of the house elves. Or at least Dobby seemed really happy, and was wearing a sparkly hat, and kept trying to convince another, rather more nervous-looking house elf to wear one as well.

“Never did Dobby think that Dixie would be freed as well! And now Dobby and Dixie can work at Hogwarts for GOOD wizards, and they can help the wonderful Harry Potter and—”

“Yes!” the other house elf, seemingly female because of its long eyelashes, suddenly squeaked. “I is wanting to help Harry Potter, too! I is wanting to give him presents for Christmas!”

“Oh! Dobby knows where Harry Potter is, and Dobby is giving him presents, too! Dobby is making Harry Potter mittens this year!”

“Um, excuse me, Dobby,” Ginny broke in, before the good will and blatant Harry-worship meant that she’d have to retch. “Could you just whip me up a really light snack that I can sneak into the library with me? Thanks.” She smiled at the unfamiliar elf, and said, “Pleased to meet you,” in the interim, which caused her new acquaintance to start sobbing happily.

“Here you is!” Dobby said happily, bobbing in front of her with an enormous tray balanced over his head. “You is a Wheezy, isn’t you? Wheezys are kind! Wheezys are—”

“Yes, thanks again, Dobby,” Ginny cut him off, staring at the army ration of food. “I’ve got to go now, but it was really great seeing you and your…friend. Happy Christmas!” She hurried out of the kitchens, shrinking the platter to palm-size and rushing up the steps towards the library. As she rounded the corner, she ran smack into another body with a loud, ‘Oof!’

“Watch where you’re going, would you?” Harry said angrily. 

Ginny was taken aback. “Jeez. Sorry,” she said. “What’s your problem _now_?”

“What’s my _problem_? Aside from your felonious brothers dumping punch down over my head?” he snapped, clearly still irritated. 

Ginny peered at him closely. “I don’t see any punch,” she pointed out.

“It’s disappearing punch,” he replied sullenly. “Like disappearing ink, only more so. Their latest gag. They just _had_ to test it out on me.”

Ginny shrugged. “It could have been a lot worse,” she pointed out. “The spelled Ron’s very first broom to turn into a snake mid-air when he was eight. Mum almost _murdered_ them.”

Harry gave her a look. “I should have known not to go looking for sympathy from you,” he muttered.

“Yes, you should,” she said, completely unabashedly. “I’ve had to live with them all my life. Where are you going?” she asked as he pushed past her down the stairs.

“I’m gonna winkle a drink from one of the house elves, because I reckon I deserve it,” he said. “What’re you going to do about it, nosy? Oh—and by the way, it was really great of you to say you were going to use the loo and then just disappear on me,” he added.

Ginny felt a flush of guilt, but rolled her eyes and walked away. Had she said she was going to the restroom? She didn’t even remember, really. She thought she’d just left. Mentally shrugging, Ginny thought, ‘ _Oh, well. I’ve got more important things to think about.’_ When she reached the library at last, Ginny found Draco staring at the paper she’d left behind. “What is it?” she asked uncertainly, setting the platter before him. 

He stared for a long moment, his hand held up to indicate silence. “Potter said the dream was about his mum. You said it was about his mum’s family. Lily Potter’s family. That was his mum’s name, correct?”

“Er…yeah,” Ginny said cautiously. “Lily Potter.”

“ _Lily_.” He scrambled in his cloak, pulling out a much-loved set of flashcards and flipping through them quickly.

“What’re those?” she asked, perplexed.

“My ‘Diabolical Doses Deck,’” he said. “Lily’s family…Lily’s…family…Lily…family…here. Here it is,” he said, pulling out a card with a picture of a cluster of yellowish-white flowers on it. “Death Camas. Also known as black snake root, it is a _member of the lily family._ It’s a poison, Ginny. It’s not a snake at all, and it doesn’t have anything to do with Lily Potter; although I suspect the Dark Lord found the name rather elegant. He’s going to poison Potter.” Draco looked up at her, eyes gleaming as varnished silver. His mouth was a grim line of triumph. 

“Good grief! He’s going to _poison Harry_?” Ginny repeated, and swallowed hard at Draco’s nod. 

He flipped through the cards again. “And yes…here it is; _Ligustrum vulgare_ —the privet hedge. The entire plant is poisonous, particularly the berries.” 

“We have to tell Harry.”

Draco hesitated, then nodded. “Right. And then Dumbledore. Because Potter’s not going to listen to reason; he never does.”

Ginny was already racing from the room, Malfoy hot on her heels. “But Dumbledore’s probably already left, and Professor McGonagall is really sick,” she said. Her feet flew as they headed back towards the kitchens.

“I say, do you know where you’re going?” Draco questioned. “Because last I saw, Potter was up at the party, mingling with his admirers, and—”

“He came down to get a drink; I saw him when I was getting the food,” she told him breathlessly. They were almost there. Almost there, and then they could warn Harry, and the mystery was solved, and it would all be over.

“But who do we tell if we can’t tell Dumbledore? Snape is—Oh. No,” Draco said.

Harry was staggering towards them, arm outstretched. His breathing was laboured, and before he’d gone two steps, he fell to his knees, and then collapsed on the floor.

Partially obscured by the long shadows in the hallway, Harry Potter lay prone, sprawled and seemingly lifeless on the cold stone floor. Ginny rushed to his side and knelt beside him, grabbing his wrist. “So cold,” he whispered, and then fell silent.

“Oh, my God, Draco, I can’t feel a pulse— _I can’t feel a pulse_!” she gasped. “I…think…Harry’s _dead._ ” 


	10. Dark Lord's Little Helper, Chapter Ten

** TITLE ** :[Dark Lord’s Little Helper, Chapter Ten](http://the-con-cept.insanejournal.com/2005/04/03/)

** RATING ** : PG-13

** PAIRING ** : Draco/Ginny

** DISCLAIMER ** : Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc. 

** BETAS ** : Gemsbok, ShadowPhoenix

** SUMMARY ** : Ginny and Draco race to save Harry…even though Harry’s already dead. There’s only one person they can turn to with something like this. Unfortunately, that same person hates Harry with a _venom_.

** The Scariest Potions Master on Earth **

Ginny was chaffing Harry’s wrist and looking up at the Slytherin. “You’re the one who’s good at potions; what do we do?”

“If this is the poison I think it is, there’s nothing we _can_ do,” he told her darkly. “We’re too late.”

“I can’t accept that,” she said determinedly. “I _won’t_ accept that! We’ll save him. We’ll take him to Snape. If he doesn’t know a cure, no one will.” She grabbed hold of Harry’s arms and propped him into a sitting position. “Here; help me get him up. Get his legs.”

Draco did so, but protested frantically. “Ginny, no! We can’t take him to Snape; not if we want him to live! Snape—ah, Snape _hates_ him.”

Ginny gave him a dirty look, struggling with Harry’s dead weight. “Not so much that he’d let Harry _die_ ,” she insisted.

“Yes, he really does! Ginny!” Draco took a deep breath. He didn’t want to get Snape in trouble. He’d _liked_ Snape. And even if he didn’t, he sure as hell _feared_ Snape. Still, dragging Potter to the man now would not only bring the lamb to slaughter, but bring Draco and Ginny as well. “Ginny, he’s a Death Eater. I know; my father told me. He’s gone to the meetings and everything.”

To Draco’s consternation, Ginny’s face lit up with a bright smile. “Draco! You finally told me the truth! I’d _wondered_ whether or not you ever would. You really _do_ care about me. You see, I’d thought—”

“Yes, yes, declarations of undying love and you walk in beauty like the night and all that. The point is; we can’t _bring_ Potter there; Snape will simply finish him off! Not that he’s not finished already,” he admitted, lugging Potter’s frighteningly cold and still legs along the hallway.

“And you care about Harry, too! I always knew the two of you didn’t hate each other _completely,_ ” she gushed. “Er, and no Byron, please. I _really_ don’t like Byron. Everybody and their brother quotes Byron. At least _try_ to be original, would you?”

“Gah!” was as much of a panicked response as he could muster. “We’re going to _die,_ you do realize that?”

“Snape _isn’t_ a Death Eater. He’s a spy!” she proclaimed reassuringly. “And don’t worry; he’ll know what to do.”

“Are you _sure_?” Draco persisted. “Because a very _good_ Death Eater _would_ say that, and _then_ where would we be?”

“Oh, shut up and help me get him to Snape.” 

O_o_O_o_O

It took a lot before they could even convince the man to let them in his chambers. When they first knocked, he poked his head out the door and stared at them suspiciously. “Yes? What do you want?”

“Erm. Sorry, sir, but Potter here is dead,” Draco offered, gesturing to the corpse.

“Really? Well done, Draco. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“ _Sir!_ ” Ginny gasped in such a scandalized voice that the man rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, Weasley. What happened, Draco?” He gave Draco one of his patented looking-inside-your-brain-and-going-through-dirty-laundry looks.

“Um. Erm. We think he’s been poisoned. Sir.”

“Ah. By whom? With what?”

“Not sure, sir. But that dream he had this summer; about a black snake, and his mother Lily’s family on Privet Drive? I was thinking that black snake root is part of the lily family, and privet is also toxic, and—”

“And what, Draco?” Severus Snape asked, eyes flashing.

“And those along with Monkshood make one of the deadliest potions known to the wizarding world; the Incurable Cocktail.”

Snape stared at them for a long moment. “Bring him in,” he said finally, standing back and allowing them to pull the body inside. “Reaction time of said potion, Mister Malfoy?” Snape asked calmly, as though he were merely quizzing them in class. 

Draco swallowed, staring down at Harry, whose cheeks were pale as marble. “Ten minutes,” he croaked. “It’s fatal. There is no cure. There’s nothing we can do. He’s dead.”

“Stop _saying_ that!” Ginny snarled. “Tell him, Professor! Tell him he’s wrong,” she begged. “There’s got to be _something_ we can do for him!”

Snape gave her an enigmatic look. “There is nothing I can do.” He held up a hand to forestall her objection. “Fortunately, measures were taken at the start of the school year in anticipation of Potter’s aggravating impulsiveness and miraculous ability to get himself into trouble. Less fortunately, however, is the fact that Professor McGonagall is truly ill, and must not be disturbed. And yet she is the only one in possession of a Time Turner at this moment.”

“A Time Turner?” Draco repeated. 

“Yes. They are…difficult objects that cause…complicated situations. You must retrieve it, go back to before Potter was poisoned, and save him.”

“Why can’t you do it, sir?” Ginny asked, confused.

For a moment, Snape’s expression became a mixture of fury and frustration. “The Ministry has cast wards on it. They would know the moment I laid hands on the thing. The Headmaster is gone—conveniently, to be sure—and McGonagall is unwell. You are what I have to work with, so work with you I shall. At least a Slytherin is involved. With a plan of this cunning, only a Slytherin could pull it off.”

“But…” Draco trailed off, staring at the body left so casually slumped on the Potions Master’s living room rug. “But we couldn’t have saved him, could we? Or else we’d know we did. And he’s dead. No pulse, no breathing, nothing. He’s obviously dead; so we’ve already failed.”

Snape gave a rather disgusted sigh. “I thought you were my best student,” he said with a sneer. Stalking across the room, he slid through a door and came back a moment later with a black vial. “I trust you know what this is, Draco?”

“The Draught of Living Death,” he said reverentially, staring. As far as Slytherin inventions went, it was very nearly the Holy Grail. It was extremely difficult and costly to make, not to mention time consuming, and required a _master_ of Potions. No Longbottom could _ever_ manage such a brew, and few wizards ever got to lay eyes on it. “I give it to Potter?”

Snape managed a twisted smile at that. “Among other things.” He handed the vial to Draco and pulled another from his robe. This one was an eerie, glowing red. “Describe the symptoms Potter exhibited before he stopped breathing, Draco,” he commanded.

Draco’s puzzled eyes followed the diminutive bottle. “Ah…just what you’d expect to see, sir. We only caught the end, where he was staggering, holding his arm out in front of him like he couldn’t see where he was going, and then he collapsed. Oh, and when Ginny took his wrist, he complained of being cold. Then he…” Draco swallowed. “Then, he died,” he finished soberly.

Snape gave him a derisive snort. “Perhaps. I, for one, very much doubt it. Think carefully: are there any other poisons that produce these symptoms?”

Draco shrugged. “Sure. Ergot gives cold extremities, but takes several days before it takes effect. Black locust doesn’t take as long. And then there’s—”

“Yes, yes,” Snape interrupted impatiently. He thrust the small bottle at the young man. “Black locust for the chill, foxglove for blurred vision, yellow jasmine for ataxia…am I forgetting anything? Oh, and there’s privet for the collapse. It shan’t be fatal without the other ingredients.”

Draco stared at him. “You mean…” he said slowly, thinking it over. 

“I mean that these poisons are curable, whereas the Incurable Cocktail— _obviously—_ isn’t. You’ll give these to him, then let yourselves find him and bring him to me. The nature of time travel is very…exacting; because you found him this way, you _must_ find him this way. Am I making myself clear?”

Ginny shook her head. “I’m not sure. I _think_ I understand, but—”

“Wait a second,” Draco broke in. “You mean I get to play the hero and STILL POISON POTTER? But that’s _fantastic!_ ”

__

_ _ Ginny gave him an annoyed look. “You mean that we can’t alter the events—or at least the _appearance_ of the events—that took place this evening. At least; the _old_ version of us has got to perceive things happening the way they did.”

“Yes,” Snape replied shortly. “Now clear out and get that damned Time Turner and get to work. I have to _once again_ save Potter’s life. Dear _God,_ he’s an awful lot of trouble!” The man pulled Harry up onto the sofa.

Ginny found herself tearing up to know that her friend wasn’t going to die. “Oh, let’s go, Draco,” she said throatily. “We have to get started. We have to save Harry.”

“And poison him!” he added cheerfully, a wicked gleam in his eyes. 

Ginny rolled her eyes as she pulled him out of the room. “Yes, that too.” 

O_o_O_o_O

Draco hauled Ginny out to the greenhouses, ignoring her protests. “What are you _doing_?” she asked for about the fifteenth time, as he worked feverishly at picking the lock on greenhouse one. “There isn’t even anything dangerous in here! Why bother?”

Draco gave a disgruntled grunt. “Did you think I was going to poison McGonagall, too? No, we’ll need something far more insidious for that old bird—or Pomfrey, who’s most likely guarding her. We’ll need to be cunning. Charming. _Slytherin._ ” The door popped open and he stepped inside, walking quickly down the aisles and examining plants. “Too ugly. Too large. Too hairy—ah, here’s one!” Whipping out his wand, he severed one flower from its root, then went along a little ways until he found another he liked, and another, until he was holding a serviceable bouquet.

Ginny stared. “You’re giving her _flowers?_ That’s _never_ going to work!”

“It doesn’t have to. All it has to do is get us in the door,” he said loftily. “From there, it’s your problem.”

“How is it _my_ problem?”

“You’ll have to distract her while I make the search,” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Oh, I see,” she said morosely, following back to the castle. 

“Cheer up,” he told her. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. You’re very resourceful and intelligent. That’s what I like about you.”

Ginny gave him a withering look. “Good grief, you’re a walking cliché. Next you’ll be telling me, ‘I _like_ a girl with spirit!’ and nonsense like that.”

He shrugged. “I’m just practicing my buttering up. Don’t worry; I’m a world-class suck-up. Everyone knows it.”

“What a thing to brag about.”

O_o_O_o_O

Madam Pomfrey gazed at them suspiciously. “You’ve already been warned that Professor McGonagall was not to be disturbed.”

“We don’t mean any harm,” Draco assured her, against all evidence. “We just want you to give her these…um. Tulips.”

“Those _aren’t_ tulips,” she responded finally. “There’s bloodsucking baby’s breath in there, for one thing.”

“Is there?” Draco responded, looking closely. “What the hell was it doing in greenhouse one?”

“ _Mister_ Malfoy! Have you been stealing from Professor Sprout’s stores?”

Draco gave Ginny a look that said he was out of ideas, so she took over. “Please, Madam Pomfrey; we really wanted to talk to _you_.”

Madam Pomfrey looked wary, but backed up and let them into Professor McGonagall’s sitting room. It was a lot warmer and cosier than Snape’s, but everything had a bit of a tartan pattern to it, and started to make one dizzy if they stared too long. “Is that right, Miss Weasley? And what is it you need from me?”

Draco took the first opportunity to slide around behind the nurse, who cannily shifted to keep an eye on him. He edged towards the doorway whenever her attention turned to his companion. _Ginny had better make this good,_ he thought, _or I’ll never be have enough time to find and nab this thing._

__

_ _ Ginny took a deep breath, looking from the nurse to Draco. “Er…well…I wanted to talk to you about…um. Sex!” she said with sudden inspiration.

Draco froze, his head twisting to gape at her. Madam Pomfrey was doing the same. “You…you— _what_?” she said faintly.

“Erm. Sex,” Ginny repeated timidly. Draco swallowed hard and resolved not to look at her, as he carefully turned the knob of the door to the next room. If _that_ didn’t take up the woman’s full attention, nothing would. “You see, we’ve been seeing each other for a while now, and it’s just a matter of time, really. So I wanted to know about contraceptives. I don’t want to turn out like my mother; seven kids and no time or energy for any of them.”

“Well. I. Well! Miss Weasley, I don’t…that is; of course, it does happen, and children grow up, and…my goodness. Well. Contraceptives? Ah. Have the two of you…already?”

Ginny shook her head, her face flaming. “No, not yet. Erm. But it seems inevitable, and I don’t want to be unprepared.”

Draco couldn’t help it. Even as he slid into the other room, his head swivelled round again, his eyes bugging out. It was _inevitable_? He surely hoped so, but had never thought to hear it voiced. Dear Merlin, she was far more sly than any Slytherin. She even had _him_ distracted, and he had a job to do! Gritting his teeth, he carefully began opening drawers and peeking into cupboards. 

He heard a noise like a sigh, and froze. There was a bed at one end of the room, and McGonagall was propped up against a bunch of pillows. For a moment, his heart leapt into his throat, but after thirty seconds or so passed without anything happening, he began breathing again. Looking closely, he saw that her eyes were closed. The Deputy Headmistress was asleep. 

And there, on her steadily rising and falling chest, was a glitter of gold. The Time Turner. _Fuck. She probably doesn’t even take it off to shower,_ he thought, then winced and shuddered. How could he possibly get it off? He couldn’t break the chain; it was necessary to work the spell. He crept up close to her, holding his breath. There was a clasp, actually, right near her neck. He wondered if he could undo it without waking her. 

Leaning down, he deftly undid the clasp with clever fingers, and began sliding the chain out from under her neck. “Almost there…almost there…” he was whispering nearly under his breath. Suddenly, Professor McGonagall stirred and turned her head so that it rested on his hand—the one that had been next to her head as he pulled out the chain. “Mmm…Albus,” she murmured with a bit of a happy smile on her usually sour old face.

_“Albus?”_ Draco mouthed silently. “Dis _gusting!_ ” After frozen this way for a few moments, he realized he’d half to move his hand in order to get free. He didn’t want to risk waking the professor up, but he didn’t know what else to do. “Er…Minerva, dear?” he whispered. “I’ve got to…use the loo.” Frowning, she turned her head just a little, and he slipped his hand out, snatched up the trinket and sprinted for the door. 

Breathing heavily, he tiptoed out, closing the door silently behind him. “And I expect you to be mature and responsible about this, and not abuse these spells, Mister Malfoy!” Madam Pomfrey was finishing, and turned to give him a firm look.

Draco blinked. “Ah. Absolutely. Er. Wouldn’t dream of abusing…anything,” he said, rather horrified. Ginny had spent the last ten minutes talking about _sex_ with Madam Pomfrey? He was going to have to buy her something. Flowers. Chocolate. No, for a horror like that, only expensive jewellery would do. He gave her a weak smile and a thumbs up when Madam Pomfrey turned her head. 

“Was there anything else you needed?” she queried, still looking rather unsettled.

“Er…no, I don’t think so. It’s been…educational, Poppy, but I think we ought to be on our way now,” he said, sidling over to Ginny and putting an arm round her shoulders, steering her out of the room.

“Mister Malfoy! Have some respect. I am part of the Hogwarts’ staff and ought to be treated with some small consideration. It really does annoy me that you feel you’ve the right to march in here and demand knowledge of—”

“ _Yes,_ Madam Pomfrey, _so_ sorry, Madam Pomfrey,” Draco responded, now just about dragging his girlfriend from the room. He nearly slammed the door shut behind them. “Now, let’s get moving! What do we do?”

“Hermione told me how to work it; you just put the chain around whomever you want to go back in time, and then you turn the hourglass one time for each hour you want to go.”

“Good, great, wonderful!” Draco exclaimed, throwing the chain around her. 

“Wait, Draco!” Ginny protested. “We can’t just do it _here_. Hermione explained that you’ll end up back in time wherever you’re standing, and you have to be careful that no one sees you. You have to be careful that _you_ don’t see you.”

“Fine! We’ll…go behind a potted plant or something,” he offered. “How far back are we going?”

Ginny reluctantly allowed him to pull her behind a suit of armour. “Snape didn’t say. Look, don’t you suppose we should think this through, first? Come up with a plan of action?”

“Hell, no! This is easy; this is _kids’_ stuff, particularly to a Slytherin like myself. Besides, I really, really, _really_ want to get back and poison Potter.” He tossed the slender golden chain around her. “Two hours? Three? We’ll do three, just to be certain. It takes at least two for most of the ingredients in the poison to start showing symptoms.”

He began flipping the hourglass over just as Ginny opened her mouth to object. 

The hall was still silent. 

“Everyone’s headed down to the feast,” Ginny said with sudden realization.

“Yes, I know, and isn’t it perfect?” Draco pulled her down the hallway, when Madam Pomfrey came up the stairs in front of them.

“What are the two of you doing up here?” she asked, her expression leery. “Professor McGonagall is ill, and isn’t to be disturbed. I don’t want any students making noise in this hallway while I’m trying to care for her.”

“We’re so sorry,” Draco responded immediately. “We didn’t realize. Um. Ginny had an important question, but since you’re busy we’ll just…er…come back later. Thanks, and goodbye!” Taking Ginny’s hand, they hurried down the stairs. “This is… _weird_ ,” he commented.

“Draco, stop!” Ginny commanded in a whisper as they reached the ground floor.

“What?”

“Look! We’re about to go into the Great Hall. We can’t be seen so close to us! People will know something is up!” She hurried around a corner, Draco moving swiftly and silently beside her. They waited there for several moments, hearts pounding. “It’s stranger seeing myself than I thought it would be,” she confessed. 

“Yes, it is,” Draco said vehemently. “And do I always look that short? These long robes aren’t as flattering as I previously thought. I’ll go to Madam Malkin’s at the first opportunity. Father probably hasn’t thought to cut off my tab there yet.”

“Draco! Stop being so vain and try to concentrate! Idiot,” she added fondly. 

He subsided with some disgruntled muttering about no one telling him he was short. “I’m not, really, I’m quite sure of it. I’ve never _felt_ short. I’m at least as tall as Potter. God, that’s not saying much, is it? Skele-Gro. I need some Skele-Gro or something.”

“Draco, dear,” Ginny said sweetly, “Any girl will tell you that size doesn’t matter.” His eyes widened as she turned to poke her head around the wall. “Do you remember what time we left the feast?”

“Er. What? You have such a dirty mind. I’m rubbing off on you. It’s wonderful. No, no idea about what time we left. It was early on, though. I didn’t even finish my soup, and you came up not long after me. We’ll just have to watch and wait.” He leaned against the wall. 

“We probably have a good twenty minutes,” Ginny observed.

“Something like that. Want to get a bit of time in while we’re waiting? Neck a bit or something?”

Ginny didn’t reply, but stomped on his foot.

“Ouch!” he exclaimed, jumping back and bringing said foot up to rub his toes. “Jeez, it was just a suggestion.”

“You’d better learn when it is and when it’s not appropriate to say things like that,” she told him severely. “Because the next time, I kick you in the shin. After that, I make my best attempt to break your kneecap. And then I—”

“I think I’ve got the idea, thank you,” he told her haughtily. “And _you_ were the one going about telling people it was inevitable that we sleep together. Can you blame a bloke for getting his hopes up?”

Ginny glared. “That was just a diversion, and you know it,” she huffed. 

Draco shifted awkwardly. “Ah. Yes, I did rather think so. I just…you know…wanted to be certain. Um. So you would _never_ consider being intimate with me? I’m only trying to, er, make sure we communicate effectively.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, but was silent a long time, checking for the other Draco leaving the Hall. “Well…maybe. Someday,” she admitted grudgingly.

The present Draco brightened considerably at this. “Really?”

“Don’t go getting all hot and bothered over it. I mean…yeah, I can see us doing that. When I said it was inevitable…I guess I kind of meant it. _Eventually._ But only in the long-term sense. Like after we graduate.” She risked a look at his face. 

He seemed to be mulling this over. “I’ll accept that,” he said grandly. “But I’m still going to try to talk you into it before that. I can’t be the godlike playboy I was destined to become if I don’t at least _try_ to talk _one_ girl into it. Occasionally.”

“You are _not_ going to be a playboy. Not on _my_ time,” she informed him. “And if you _do_ pressure me about it, I’m going to continue to do things like stomp on your feet.”

“Well, _obviously_ ,” he responded. “I’ll run the risk. So long as there’s a chance it’ll happen someday. I think it’ll be worth it.” He gave her his most charming smile, and she shook her head, peeking out to see the past Draco finally leave.

“You’ve gone,” she noted. “Now we just have to wait for me.”

“I’ll be patient,” he assured her, earning himself a scathing look. 

“Anyhow,” she muttered, when he no longer seemed to be listening, as he leaned slightly around the corner, watching the doors to the Great Hall. “It _would_ be rather a waste to have learned all those Contraceptive Charms if I never once used them.” 

“Romantic as always,” he said dryly, causing her to blush. “And there _you_ go, so here _we_ go. Ready, my adamant angel? My stubborn siren?”

“Stop it already,” she ordered, wiping her palms on her robes. “How are we going to do this?”

Draco frowned thinking it over. “Well,” he said slowly, “Much as I hate to do it this way—and I really do—I don’t think Potter would trust me to get close enough to poison him, so I think you’ll have to be the one to do it.”

Ginny gulped, suddenly panicked. Poison her friend? The boy she’d had a raging crush on since she was nine years old? She couldn’t do it. She could never do it. What a crazy idea! But even as she was shaking her head, Draco took hold of her hand and squeezed it lightly.

“It’ll be all right,” he assured her. “He’s a bit of a dolt now, but I’m sure he’ll understand someday. It’s the only way. And I’m fairly certain it won’t be too difficult. Come on. I’ll go in with you, even if I can’t really do much to help.” He put an arm around her shoulders and led her to the doors. “You’ll be fine. I promise.” 


	11. Dark Lord's Little Helper, Chapter Eleven

**Dark Lord's Little Helper, Chapter Eleven**  
[Chapter Eleven](http://the-con-cept.insanejournal.com/264027.html#cutid1)

** SUMMARY ** : Ginny and Draco rush to save Harry. Unfortunately, this means Ginny will have to make a huge leap of faith, trusting Draco and Snape by putting Harry’s life on the line.

** How to be a Hero with Just a Vial of Poison and a Young Redhead **

Ginny entered the Hall first, nervously biting her thumbnail. The poison was practically burning a hole in her pocket. She was all right with Draco carrying the plan out, but it rattled her to think of being the one to do it. What if Harry hated her forever? _Get a grip, Weasley,_ she instructed herself. _At least he’ll be alive a good long while to hate you, or longer than he would have been, at any rate. You’re doing the right thing._

            She hurried back to her seat. “Hey there,” she said with a fake smile, and he turned to look at her.

“Hey,” he responded, yawning. “Where’d you go?”

“Oh…just to stretch my legs,” she replied nervously. Under the table, she worked the vial out of her pocket. “Um. The food looks pretty good, doesn’t it?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not very hungry, to be honest,” he told her.

Ginny silently cursed. Of course he wasn’t. Poor Harry was always so stressed out these days that he was almost never hungry. That made things more difficult. She’d hoped she’d just be able to pour the potion into his food, since he was practically asleep sitting up and likely wouldn’t even notice. Now she’d have to think of something else. Sitting up as tall as she could, Ginny peered into Harry’s cup, which was just about empty. 

Harry rubbed his eyes. “Sorry I’m not such great company tonight,” he said.

“Oh, no worries,” she told him in a chipper voice. “You know, some more punch might help that. The secret ingredient really does make things more fun.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Draco slinking back to his seat and trying to wave Parkinson off. He kept shooting anxious looks at her. 

Harry gave another apathetic shrug. “Maybe. I’m not all that thirsty, either. Just tired.”

“Yes? Well…um. Wait here, and I’ll get us both some punch,” she said. “And I’ll try to keep you awake a bit longer, so you don’t miss out on the Christmas fun.” Sliding back her chair, she hurried over to Fred and George with Harry’s nearly empty cup. Ron had moved to sit next to them, and they were talking avidly about a new prank product. “Hey, guys,” she said breathlessly. “Do you have any more punch? I need a couple of cups.”

George handed her a cup, grinning. “One for Harry?” Ginny nodded distractedly.

“Here, you can have mine, too,” Ron offered. “It was my third cup, so I’m good.” He gave her a wide grin. “And good luck with Harry!”

“Oh…you just want him as a brother-in-law,” she fumed, snatching the drink out of his surprised hand. “Well, it’s not going to happen. I’m going to marry whoever makes me happy, not whoever makes _you_ happy, got it? And if you don’t like it, you can damn well marry him yourself!” She flounced off crossly.

“I—what? You—” Ron was spluttering behind her. “Who said anything about _marriage?_ She’s…of all the crazy—!”

Hurrying away, she uncapped the vial with one hand and surreptitiously poured it all in. She was careful to keep her back to her brothers and the poisoned cup in her right hand.

Ginny dropped into the seat beside Harry, who was resting his face in his palm, his elbow dangerously close to his neighbour’s drink. “Here,” she said breathlessly. “I got us some punch. Drink up!”

He blinked tiredly at her. “Nah, that’s okay. You go ahead, though.”

Ginny looked over at Draco, flummoxed. She gave him a pleading look, glancing back at Harry, who’d shut his eyes again. Draco plastered a grin on his face, grabbed up his glass, and turned to Parkinson, saying loudly, “A toast to your beauty!”

For a moment, Ginny was affronted, but recovered quickly. She shook Harry’s shoulder. “Come on, Harry! Have a drink with me, please? I wanted to do a Christmas toast. Everyone else is doing it!”

Harry sighed and straightened up, stretching his arms a bit. “All right, all right. We’ll have a toast, already. What are we drinking to?”

Ginny stared. “To—to…to friendship.” Harry nodded and clinked his glass against hers, sipping his punch. “To a really great friendship,” Ginny continued sadly, “Because I care such an awful lot about you, and I’d do just about anything to protect you.”

Harry blinked at her a bit more, now looking a little lost. “Okay…” he said uncertainly, tapping their cups together and drinking again.

“Even if it was something really bad. Because you saved my life once, and I’ll never forget it, and I’ll always be there to try to save yours, if I can. Any way possible.”

Now Harry was turning a bit red. “Um. Yeah.” He drank again. “It wasn’t any big deal; you don’t have to get all…um. You don’t _owe_ me anything, you know.”

Ginny smiled a watery smile. “I know.” She raised her glass. “And because I’m _really trying_ to be as good a friend to you as you are to me, even if it doesn’t always seem like it,” she said.

Harry frowned. “Look, how long is this toast going to go on? I thought it was only supposed to be a couple of words, not a two-hour dissertation about our friendship.”

“Right,” she said, clinking cups. “I’m finished.” She sipped her punch, and watched him finish his off. She set the cup down rather hard on the table, letting it slip from suddenly shaking hands. She looked up at Harry, blinking back tears. She hoped to God Snape knew what he was doing, or she’d have just killed one of her best friends. She threw her arms around his neck, swallowing a sob. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she muttered. “I—I really have to use the bathroom.”

“For crying out loud!” Harry exclaimed, untangling himself. “You didn’t have to tell me that. Why are you sorry for _that_ , anyhow?” He watched with bafflement as she stood up and gave him a stoic smile, before turning and running from the room. “Girls,” he muttered, before getting up to join the other Weasleys. “Ron, I reckon your sister is crazy.”

“Tell me about it,” said Ron vehemently. 

Only Hermione and Pansy Parkinson noticed Draco steal out of the room after Ginny, and one was too offended to mention it to anyone else, and the other was far too discreet.

********************************************

By the time Draco caught up with her, Ginny pretty much had herself under control. “Sorry about that,” she snuffled, wiping her cheek with the back of her palm. “That was a lot harder than I thought it was going to be.”

“You did a good job,” Draco told her quietly. “It’s not like you choked or anything. You’re a real trooper.” He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

Ginny took a couple of deep breaths. “It’s just…when I was down in the Chamber of Secrets, he came after me…he saved me from the snake, and from Voldemort, and he—”she hiccupped a little, interrupting herself—“he even tried to lie about it afterwards, so that I wouldn’t get in trouble. I don’t have a lot of friends that would do something like that for me.” She scowled at her shoes until she was breathing normally again.

“Yeah,” Draco told her softly, “I think I understand. I don’t have any friends like that, so I know it must be pretty special. Don’t worry; he’ll be okay. I promise. Are you going to be all right?” he asked gently, rubbing her back.

She nodded. “I’m fine now.” She looked up at him. “And you _do too_ have a friend like that.”

Draco looked annoyed. “I had rather hoped we’d moved beyond the realm of mere ‘friendship.’”

She wrapped her arms around him and leaned on his shoulder. “We can be friends, too,” she informed him. “There’s no law that says we can’t.”

Slowly, he brought his arms up around her as well. “Ah. In that case, I suppose it’s all right. Let's get a cup of tea,” Draco suggested. “It would probably make you feel better. Plus, it would be good if we could get something to eat. I still haven’t had anything since that soup and it’s been…well, the time table is rather convoluted at this point, but my stomach says it’s been far too long.”

“I agree,” Ginny said with a sigh. “It’s really not good to drink the twins’ punch on an empty stomach. Let’s head down to the kitchens and get a snack before I go down there and run into myself.”

Draco frowned. “I dislike time travel,” he said finally. “It’s terribly circuitous, and it’s giving me a headache.”

*************************************************

Once they reached the kitchens, Draco stopped and stared, aghast.

“Well, I don’t see Dobby, but it looks like his little friend is here,” Ginny was saying, “So we’ll just—”

“ _Dixie?_ ” Draco gasped. “What the bloody hell are _you_ doing here?”

The elf threw herself at his feet and burst into sobs—of happiness or misery, Ginny couldn’t tell. “You _know_ this elf?” she said, shocked.

“Of course I know this elf! This is _my_ elf!” Draco said angrily. “Stop it, Dixie! You tell me what you’re doing here right this instant!”

“Dobby said she’d been set free,” Ginny told him.

“Ha! As if father would ever set a house elf free,” Draco replied scornfully. “Something is afoot, and I have a pretty shrewd guess as to what it’s all about. Dixie,” he said in a warning tone, “ _Why are you here?_ ”

“Master says—Master says—” she wailed tearfully. “Master says I is to come to Hogwarts and tell them I is freed! Master gives me a sock, but it is only to borrows. Master says I is to come here and give Harry Potter a Christmas present, Master Draco, sir!”

Draco _humphed_. “I see. And did this Christmas present happen to be some sort of potion, Dixie?”

Dixie nodded, crying loudly. “I is not wanting to, but Master is saying I must! Master is saying to make Harry Potter a drink for Christmas, and I is to pour the whole bottle in! I must! I must! I is having to!” She looked truly miserable, and Ginny felt rather sorry for her.

“Can’t we just tell her not to?” she asked Draco unhappily.

He shook his head bitterly. “Not as long as she hasn’t been freed. Until her master frees her, she _has_ to do exactly as he says. She isn’t really a house elf of Hogwarts, you see. And even if we stop her, she’ll have to go back and tell my father she failed.”

Ginny looked at him uncertainly. “Can’t you…can’t you free her?”

Draco looked from Dixie to Ginny and back again. “That’s a thought…Dixie, has my father disowned me yet?”

She shook her ugly head. “No! He is waiting—he is waiting—he is saying—not until Harry Potter is dead, because then maybe Master Draco is seeing what a terrible mistake he is making, and then he is coming home and is learning his lesson!”

“Fat chance,” Draco muttered, dropping to sit cross-legged on the floor and yank a shoe off. “But if he hasn’t disowned me, maybe I’ll be able to convince him he’s the one being an idiot, so it’s still a good thing.” He tugged off a sock and made to hand it to Dixie. “Whoa—wait. First, I order you to give me the poison.”

“Yes, Master Draco!” she squeaked, pulling out a stoppered bottle filled with bubbling black liquid. “I is giving it to you _right now_!” It was obvious that she hadn’t been happy about having to handle the deadly substance in the first place.

“Good,” he said, then placed the sock in her hand. “There. You’re free.”

“But—but what is I going to do?” she asked, sounding frightened. “Where is Dixie going now?”

“You’ll stay here, of course,” Draco said, as if surprised she’d even asked. “You came to Hogwarts to get a job, and you can damn well stay here. Maybe Dumbledore will let you work as my personal house elf. I could use one, that’s for sure.”

“Oh! Master Draco! Dixie is so happy!” She threw herself at him again, now sobbing with joy. 

“Ah, yes,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I forgot how _wet_ it was, having a house elf. Well, never mind. Listen,  Dixie, I need you to act normally. Just stay down here and pretend nothing’s changed. Pretend you’re here to poison Potter, and I’ll let you know when it’s safe to stop pretending. All right?” He turned to Ginny. “I think we should take this poison straight to Snape. He’s the only one who would know how to safely dispose of it.”

They hurried out of the kitchens and made their way to the Potions Master’s room, where he greeted them with cool wariness. “Has someone set your bed alight again, Draco?” he inquired as Draco shifted nervously before him.

“No, sir, and I know it wasn’t you now. I’m glad of that, otherwise that remark would be kind of creepy.”

The man arched an amused brow. “I wasn’t aware I was a suspect in the arson of your bedroom,” he replied standing back easily to let them in. He certainly seemed more relaxed than the first time around, at any rate.

“We thought we’d better bring this to you, sir; it’s the Incurable Cocktail that almost got Potter,” Draco explained, handing him the vial. Snape’s eyebrows both rose up high at this, and he looked at his student in astonishment.

“What?”

“Oh, that’s right; we haven’t come yet, so he doesn’t know what’s going on,” Ginny pointed out. “Someone tried to poison Harry, sir. So you sent us back in time to save him. You gave us a different potion that wouldn’t be as bad, so you’d still be able to cure him. I think we’re just about to bring his body back here, actually, so you can save him.”

Snape’s dark eyes flashed from Ginny to Draco. “What poisons did I give you, Draco? Hurry now.” He strode quickly from the front room back into what was obviously a private lab, and began pulling things out. “Ergot, obviously…and—”

“Oh! No, sir,” Draco corrected quickly. “You told me it was black locust. And there was also privet, foxglove, and yellow jasmine. We wouldn’t want to screw that up. I mean, you have to know what it was so you can cure him, right?”

Snape froze, his lean dark figure absolutely motionless. “Damn and blast.” He whirled on them. “Draco, you already know the ingredients, so you prepare the poison. I’ll have to start on the cure. You didn’t leave me much time,” he complained bitterly.

“We’re sorry,” Ginny told him sincerely. “We didn’t consider that you didn’t have it all ready. Can I help?”

“Peel the bark from these roots,” he ordered brusquely. “Don’t dawdle, Draco,” he warned. “Yours will have to be ready first, and mine is too complicated to give you a chance at.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco said, happily mixing his ingredients together. Snape’s fingers flew as he added one item after another to his brew. “This _is_ fun, sir. I get to make a poison to nearly kill Potter. Happy Christmas, Draco.”

Ginny frowned, but one corner of Snape’s mouth curled up in something resembling a smile. “It _is_ satisfying, isn’t it?” he responded. “It’s annoying that I’ll have to revive him, but we can’t have everything.”

Changing the topic, Ginny remarked, “You accepted this all awfully quickly, Professor. I thought we’d have to explain ourselves a lot more than we did before you believed us.”

The Potions Master shrugged. “The Headmaster told me he suspected something would happen tonight, and warned me to be alert. Omniscient old coot,” he added nearly under his breath. Glancing up at his students, he asked, “How did you realize what happened?” as he stirred his cauldron counter clockwise.

Draco exchanged a look with Ginny. “It’s kind of a long story. It’s all thanks to the poison flashcards you gave me years ago. You see, when Ginny explained to me that Harry’s mother’s name was Lily, it jogged my memory of death camas.” He quickly outlined what had happened that evening, ladling his finished poison into a vial off the shelf as Ginny looked on, amazed. She had _that exact vial_ in her pocket, and couldn’t get over how odd time was. 

After Draco explained what Snape had told them earlier, Ginny looked questioningly up at the man. “How does that _work?_ He tells you what the poison is and how to cure it, and then you go out and tell _him_ what the poison is and how to cure it, and it just goes around in a big circle.”

Snape didn’t look up. “Many philosophers believe time goes in a great cycle. Personally, I _hate_ time travel. Better not to think too much about it. Trust me; you’ll only go mad from the effort.”

Suddenly, Ginny realized a noise she’d been hearing in the background was, in fact, someone knocking on the chamber door. “Oh! That’s us!” she exclaimed.

Snape snatched Draco’s vial from him and put it in his robes. “Keep stirring that, and add the fire ants when it begins to boil. Then take it off the heat,” he ordered, pointing at his own cauldron.

The professor went to get the door, and Draco mouthed, “ _Draught of Living Death,_ ”at Ginny. Her eyes widened, and she leaned out and whispered it loudly at the back of the professor. He stopped a moment before saying, “Top shelf of the closet in the back. Bring it out to me, and hurry.”

Ginny rushed to do as she was told. When she came back, Snape had his head out the door, but kept it mostly closed, and his arm was behind his back, motioning frantically to give him the bottle. She hurried up to him and placed it in his palm, scurrying back to the lab to whisper, “You’re clear!” before shutting the door.

As Draco tended the cure, they listened to themselves explain what was going on to Snape, and Snape’s instructions in response. “So…who thought it up?” Ginny murmured to Draco. “You got the idea from him, and he got the idea from you. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?”

Draco could only shake his head, carefully adding the fire ants one at a time. “Who knows? The whole thing makes my head spin.”

A knock sounded on the door, and it swung open to reveal Snape. “You’ve just left. Give me the cure."  Snape looked fretfully back at Potter’s limp body, leg dangling off the couch. “Once he’s this badly off, it’s critical that he receive prompt treatment,” the man said, waving his wand to produce a Cooling Charm on the cure. “That will make the potion less strong, but we have plenty of it, so we can always give him additional doses,” he continued, scooping up a spoonful and heading back to Harry.

They all leaned in closely as Snape spoon-fed the stricken student. He deftly reached out a long hand and rubbed Harry’s throat, forcing him to swallow. Harry coughed a couple of times. “Bring me another spoonful,” he commanded, giving the utensil to Ginny. “Don’t spill any.” After several rounds of this, Harry was beginning to wake up, though he was still quite pale. 

He swallowed hard once or twice, blinking up at them with eyes full of pain. “What happened?” Harry asked in a hoarse voice.

“Someone attempted to poison you,” Snape said shortly. He glanced at Draco. “Get me a vial full. Now that he’s awake, he can take a proper dose.”

The door to his room opened, and he looked up in surprise until the Headmaster’s merry face was in sight. “Ah, Severus. Good job saving the boy,” the man said. “And congratulations to the both of you as well, Mister Malfoy and Miss Weasley. A job well done. Now, if you’d like to have a seat, I will assist Severus with Harry, and then we can get him up to the hospital ward.”

*************************************************

After he was well enough, Dumbledore conjured a stretcher and floated Harry up to the hospital ward while Draco and Ginny trailed behind. 

“Will he really be all right, sir?” Ginny couldn’t help asking. 

“Oh, yes,” he assured her. “And I believe Tom spent quite a bit of time and effort on this particular plot, so I think we’ll have a bit of a break as he tries to think up another.”

“Harry!”

“What happened?”

The Great Hall was emptying as the feast ended, and Hermione and the Weasleys came running over to see their ill friend. 

“Harry will be just fine,” Dumbledore announced. “There was a clever plot to kill him, but Miss Weasley and Mister Malfoy were sharp enough to unravel it and save him from death. He needs nothing more than rest, now.”

“You just disappeared,” Ron was saying accusingly, “You should’ve mentioned where you were going—”

“I was poisoned,” Harry protested. “I just thought I wasn’t feeling well, and—”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re all right!” Hermione said, clutching his arm through the sheets.

“Ginny and _Malfoy_ saved Harry?” Fred repeated in consternation. “I don’t believe it. Malfoy was probably the one who poisoned him in the _first_ place!”

“Actually, he wasn’t,” Ginny told him evenly.

“Well, he can’t have been of much _help_ ,” George noted. “Considering his first response to danger is to scream like a girl and mince off as fast as his legs can carry him.”

“I resent that,” Draco said petulantly. “It only happened that _one time,_ and for your information, Malfoys do not mince!”

“…and you can both shut the hell up, because I really like him, and we’re—I’m—he’s my…boyfriend,” Ginny announced to everyone. 

_“What?_ ” the twins and Ron replied in unison. 

“Oh, no, he’s not,” Ron began, but Hermione elbowed him roughly in the ribs. “What was _that_ for?” he demanded, outraged. 

“It’s her own life,” Hermione lectured him, pulling him aside, where Ginny could still hear the occasional, ‘understand that you feel protective,’ and ‘she’s old enough to make her own decisions,’ as Hermione ground him down. 

“Weasleys do not go out with Malfoys,” George stated, and Fred nodded firmly. “We don’t mix with those uptight, pureblooded bastards. They’re Death Eaters, all of them.”

“Draco’s not,” Ginny insisted. “And you’re acting just as bigoted as they are. The only way we’ll ever have peace is if both sides give a little. And I’m going to be with him, whether you like it or not. He may be a Malfoy, but he’s _my_ Malfoy, and you all had better just get used to it.” She turned and pressed a chaste kiss to Draco’s lips.

“…I’m having a _really_ bad day,” Harry moaned as he was floated away, and Hermione dragged Ron after him, still arguing ferociously. It would take him a while to come around, but at least Hermione could probably keep him in line.

She turned to the twins, who were staring at her with a mixture of disapproval and resignation. “This is going to bite you in the arse someday, mark my words,” Fred prophesied. 

“This from the same guy who once turned my rubber ducky into a barracuda while I was in the bathtub,” she said sourly.

“You were hogging all the hot water,” he shot back.

The twins exchanged a look, before each took hold of Draco’s shirt and pulled him up to their height. “You ever hurt our little sister—” Ginny tried to get them to let go, but they pushed her away.

“—and we’ll devote our entire lives—”

“—to testing our products on you—”

“—right, and playing all of our pranks on you, and you alone—”

“—and generally making your life a complete misery.”

“Do you understand?”

Draco sighed, nodding. “Yes, thank you so much. Terribly kind of both of you. Have you ever thought of going into the goon business? I have a couple of them I need to replace, and I think you’d be just about perfect.”

Fred looked calculatingly at Draco. “You know, we’re looking at this the wrong way. This could be _fun_.”

“You’re right about that, mate,” George said enthusiastically. “After all, Ronnie’s getting a bit paranoid in his old age. He’s no fun to play with any more.”

“Right. Seems like years since he was incautious enough to climb into bed without jabbing at it with a long stick first.”

“And you’re staying with us again next summer, aren’t you, Draco?”

Ginny stepped between her brothers and pulled Draco away, putting an arm around his waist, and scowled at the twins defiantly. “I’m keeping him, and if you break him, I’ll tell Mum every single thing I’ve ever found out you’ve done,” she said. 

“Not about the time with that French girl and the floo powder,” George said apprehensively.

“ _Especially_ about the incident with the French girl and the floo powder.”

“I _promise_ I’ll never hurt her,” Draco swore.

“Oh, _good._ We knew you’d see things our way. I’m sure we’ll all have a lot of fun together.”Each twin grabbed one of his hands and shook it, leaving them oozing with some unknown substance. “Welcome to the family,” they said, and grinned.

Draco looked wretchedly at the green goop covering his hands, not daring to wipe them on his only clean robes. He glanced at Ginny, who gave him a small, wry smile, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks,” he told them. “I promise I’ll stick around for a long time. And if one of you doesn’t get me a towel or something to clean my hands off, I’ll explain to dear Mrs. Weasley how traumatic the experience was for me.”

Fred glared. George frowned. “She isn’t going to do anything for you. You aren’t even her own flesh and blood.”

“No,” Draco agreed. “I’m a poor, defenceless waif at the mercy of fate, whose own parents tried to sell to him a madman.”

The twins exchanged a look, before one reluctantly handed over a handkerchief. “She _does_ kind of have a soft spot for blokes like that.”

Draco whistled merrily as he cleaned his hands and led Ginny away. “She always liked me best,” he said over his shoulder. 


End file.
